


Harmonia Mundi

by pen_rabbit



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-01
Updated: 2011-08-01
Packaged: 2017-10-22 02:09:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 43,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/232552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pen_rabbit/pseuds/pen_rabbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Music has always been the centre of Merlin’s reality, and the idea of silence is unimaginable. But when Camelot is deafening, Arthur is distracting and the dragon is utterly unhelpful, will his gift turn out to be a blessing or a curse?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Paperlegends Big Bang 2011. Beta'd by the lovely Paragraphs. Full authors notes and thanks are posted [here](http://pen-rabbit.livejournal.com/16316.html).
> 
> Gorgeous art for this story was done by the amazing Juvenine and is posted [here](http://juvenine.livejournal.com/48464.html).
> 
> Nineteen original pieces of music were composed and recorded for this story by Gfeather, who is utterly incredible. This music can be found either scattered through the [livejournal version](http://pen-rabbit.livejournal.com/16316.html) of this story or at the [music masterpost](http://gfeather.livejournal.com/127632.html).
> 
> If you enjoy the works, please leave feedback for the art and music posts as well as for the story. Thank you!

_Silence._

 _He screamed._

 

  
~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~    


 

It had taken a long time for Merlin to wrap his head around the concept of ‘quiet’.

His mother, when asked, told him that he had always been a noisy child - though not in a bad way. It hadn’t been that he had screamed or cried; indeed, he had almost never been upset about anything. It was just that he had always been making some kind of sound. Wherever he was, whatever he was doing, Merlin would be humming or singing or tapping to a beat no one else could hear. Even as an infant he had gurgled musically, she said, and once he was old enough to vocalise he never seemed to stop.

And, Hunith said, if she ever asked him to be quiet, he would just looked at her with wide puzzled eyes. It was only once he grew older and started to play with other children that he learned to be silent, and to listen.

In fact, it had been Will who made Merlin learn how to _not_ listen, and for him that was much more important.

From the slow, deep thrum of the earth to the bright, high chiming of sunlight, Merlin’s world had never not been full of sound. Indeed, it was hard for him to understand that other people lived their lives almost entirely deaf to the world. When Will had first told him that no, he couldn’t hear the trees singing about the coming spring, Merlin hadn’t believed him. How could anyone not hear it? It was _there_ , as it had always been, the sound that filled Merlin’s every waking moment and flowed through his dreams as well. A touchstone of his reality, the extra dimension to every living thing and to every not-living thing too. It was like learning that Will was blind, to think he couldn’t hear the rocks or the birds or the ripening of the harvest.

With careful questioning, Merlin found that his mother couldn’t hear the family of mice that lived in the wall, or that the roof was thinning in places and would soon need re-thatching, or that the hens had hidden their eggs near the shed. He still had trouble believing it, though, and the idea of living without the music was a terrifying one. How would you know that there were no monsters hiding under the bed or prowling outside if you couldn’t listen for them? How else did anyone know that it was time to harvest the crops or milk the cows if they couldn’t hear the music? How did people _live_ without sound defining every single thing they did?

It was almost too much to wrap his mind around. The absence of music, the idea of _silence_ , was so foreign he could hardly imagine what it might sound like. But it wouldn’t have a sound, would it? There would just be nothing. Just silence, just a great dark void where there would be no music, no life, no people - just emptiness. It would be like death, Merlin thought, and the idea gave him nightmares for months.

Even once he knew why people expected him to not make noise, Merlin still had trouble being quiet. Because really, how could he not want to harmonise with the trees or sing a duet with a passing dragonfly?

Paying attention to people was even harder. Why would he want to listen to what they said when he could listen to what they _sang_? Well, sang was probably the wrong word for it, for the resonant song of a person as they went about their day, but it was the best Merlin could come up with when Will badgered him to describe what he could hear.

So if Merlin seemed distracted at times, away with the fairies, daydreaming, he was probably only thinking about how Will sounded like a cheeky bubbling stream when he smiled, or how similar Old Man Simmons sounded to the gnarled old apple tree in the town square that still produced sweet fruit every summer. The other villagers were used to seeing him wandering and humming, used to his vague smile and to having to tell him something several times before he seemed to hear it. And if they thought him a little simple and left him mostly to himself, well, that just gave him more time to enjoy the music.

As for magic? Magic was _easy_. All Merlin had to do was change the note of the table from “there” to “here”, and the table would move. If he stretched out his mind and thought of what something _ought_ to sound like, the music would change and it would happen. The more sounds he tried to change the harder the magic became, trying to keep all the notes in his head at once - but Hunith got mad whenever Merlin tried anything too loud, so he didn’t try that too often.

Will asked once how Merlin knew what to change the sound to, and Merlin just looked at him. “How do you know what a purple tree would look like?”

“A purple tree? Why would anyone want a purple tree?”

“Just if they did. You could imagine one, yeah?”

“Guess so.”

“Well, it’s the same. I know what a tree sounds like, and what purple sounds like. I just ... put them together and there you go. Purple tree.”

And if the oak trees nearby had a suspiciously lilac-like tinge to them by the end of the conversation, well, that was hardly likely to be Merlin’s fault, now was it? And surely no one would notice or care anyway.

Ealdor, for the most part, was a village of harmony, a united chorus of contentment. There were occasional discordances, arguments, vicious clashings of tone that made Merlin flee for the comforting sound of the forest, but for the most part every song had its place and Merlin grew up imagining nothing more than a happy life in the fields. Of course he would continue to hide his magic, and Will was the only person who knew about the music, but the songs were beautiful and he was content.

But somehow, dissonance began creeping into the village. It was difficult to place, but slowly there came to be a sour note from someone who had always been friendly, or a loss of harmony from where it had always been before. And then it turned out that mentally linking the apple tree with Old Man Simmons had been a bad idea, and suddenly his mother was telling him to go.

Merlin went.

  
~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~    


The journey from Ealdor to Camelot was not overly long, though there was no reliable road all the way through the mountains and forests. Merlin knew his mother had sent a letter to the court physician, an old friend, and that he was expected to arrive in Camelot on Wednesday. That was probably the only thing that kept him moving on through the beautiful symphony that was the wilderness.

It was as if being alone had made his ears sharper - he had never heard the world so strongly before. The song of the mountains echoed in his bones, a glorious thrumming that was deep and rich and powerful, and Merlin hummed along as he walked. Snow gilding the peaks chimed in harmony with the high, glittering splendour of the sunlight; and the wind whistled with melodies from distant lands. The sound of the melt-water waterfall was somehow like both the mountains and the river, but different again; deep and smooth and beautiful, and the forest sang joyously with the springtime. Merlin opened his mouth and let sound burst forth, joining the chorus of the world with his own voice and wishing, again, that he could sing more than just one note at a time.

The occasional passing human sounded so out of place that they were clearly audible from miles away, and Merlin would have plenty of warning to stop singing or humming before they came close, walking or trotting along the highway. As soon as they were past, though, he would join back in, picking up a descant as the earth rumbled contentedly beneath his feet.

Merlin could have spent days just wandering, drinking in the endless chorus of nature, paying no heed to where he was going, or why, lost in the timelessness of sound. Food was no object, he could hum _spring_ to the trees and have fruit for the wanting, or sing like a rabbit until one was lured too close. (Will had always called it cheating, but Merlin considered it just a clever time-saver. After all, it wasn’t his fault that rabbit sounded a bit like delicious.) As matters stood, he lingered as long as he could, trying to imprint the peace of the wild places into his mind before turning his path toward civilisation.

He heard Camelot long before he saw it. The city was _loud_ , louder than anything he’d ever heard before. There were so many people, so many different sounds, and the cacophony was deafening him even before he reached the city walls. How was he going to live here? It was so busy. People were everywhere, all going noisily about their business as Merlin wandered through the crowded streets, each person adding their own particular song to the united chorus of sound. He rubbed at his ears, trying to focus on the sights and smell rather than the overwhelming sound, and craning his neck to admire the castle. It was strong, authoritative note against the discordant babble of the town, and Merlin hoped he would be able to stay there rather than in the town. He made his way toward it and found himself in a courtyard filled with people, a strangely silent crowd who echoed discordantly. Merlin slowed his pace and glanced around, confused by the sudden contrast to the babble from the town. There were no voices, but the fierce undertone of the gathering was disconcerting.

Distracted, it took a few minutes before he realised what was going on. The man on the balcony began to speak, and Merlin realised with a jolt that this must be the king. He both looked and sounded like a man to be feared. His song reminded Merlin of the cold north wind, and also, somehow, sounded a bit like a river in flood - strong and relentless. And he was saying something, so it was probably important. Merlin focused, trying to hear, but it was so hard over the persistent rumble of the crowd. He tried to tune out the overwhelming hum, concentrating on the words.

“... judged guilty of conspiring to use enchantments and magic.”

Merlin inhaled sharply, eyes widening as shock and fear shot through him. It was one thing to know, abstractly, that magic was forbidden, but to see a man condemned for what Merlin did every day... He had to suppress a shudder.

The king was still speaking. “I, Uther Pendragon, have declared that such practices are banned, on penalty of death.”

Merlin turned to look at the man being led into the wooden platform. He might have been a sorcerer, Merlin supposed - he had never met anyone who practiced magic before, and he couldn’t tell over the noise if the man (sorcerer?) sounded different to anyone else. And there were so many people just _watching_ as the man was forced to his knees, and - Merlin looked away as a song went abruptly, awfully, silent.

What kind of a place had his mother sent him to? How could this huge, loud city be any kind of place for Merlin? Closing his eyes against the crowd, he let the wave of noise wash over him, still deafening but somehow all the more reassuring for it, for its continuing presence. He had never heard a person just _stop_ like that before, their song silenced forever, and the simplicity of it was deeply shocking. And Merlin knew, with a dreadful certainty, that he would be on the block if anyone had any idea of what he could do. The idea of kneeling, helplessly waiting for that sudden silence, was terrifying.

The cold-wind king was speaking again but Merlin didn’t want to listen. He was turning away when he noticed the strange-sounding old woman shouting at the king, and he focused to listen to her.

“Your hatred, and your ignorance! You took my son!”

The crowd was muttering, nervous now, and the added voices made it harder for Merlin to distinguish any words over the tumult. But her last proclamation rang in his ears, and he felt a thrill of dread as she declared, “An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. A son for a son!”

The guards surged forward at the wind-king’s command, but the witch was already incanting a spell, and she disappeared in a cacophonous burst of air and sound that left Merlin’s ears ringing.

Everyone was moving. He moved too, with no idea where he was going, but wanting to be far away from the ominous-sounding platform and the cold song of the king.

The crowd dispersed quickly, and Merlin wished for nothing more than a corner to hide in, to stuff his fingers in his ears and hide from the overwhelming sound. The relentless rumble of city-and-castle was making his head ache, and the higher notes of people everywhere distracted him and made it hard to focus. He wanted to go, to run and run until he was lost in the mountains again with no discordant people to shout and clash and stop.

But if he disappeared into the mountains, his mother would worry. Gaius was expecting him. He couldn’t just vanish, no matter how much he wanted to. Merlin took a deep, shuddering breath and forced himself to focus.

With a little help, he found the right chambers easily enough, and pushed open the door. The room looked to be empty, and Merlin couldn’t help but smile at the comfortable harmony of the bubbling pots, the vials and jars strewn everywhere, the books stacked and lining the walls. It was - relaxing, after the commotion of the town, and Merlin found himself reassured that not all the city was ridiculously loud.

Then he realised the strongest note in the song was coming from up on the balcony and looked up to see the old man, back to the door as he looked through his books.

Clearing his throat, Merlin asked, “Gaius?”

The man turned around and with a sharp squeal the wooden rails were breaking and he was falling. Without a thought Merlin slowed the music to a fraction of its normal pace, stopping the fall, and looked around the room for something to catch the man. The bed sounded sturdy enough, so he shifted it over and let the music speed up again, and Gaius crashed onto the soft surface.

Merlin grinned in relief, but then Gaius was yelling at him and he had to listen to the words rather than musing on how the old man sounded remarkably green, just like the forest near the mountains.

“That was nothing to do with me!” he tried to assert, but Gaius was having none of it.

“I know what it was! I just want to know where you learned how to do it!”

“Nowhere!” Merlin said frantically, wondering how he was going to explain that he had never studied magic, he didn’t even know what other peoples’ magic sounded like! Though he knew better than to say that - bringing up the music would hardly help at this point. He could see the old forest-man didn’t believe his protestations. And even though Merlin knew he was different, it still hurt to hear that apparently his existence was “impossible”.

Once Gaius realised who Merlin was, though, things got a bit easier. Merlin had to quash a pang of disappointment that he could have stayed longer in the mountains, but if Gaius wasn’t going to report him to the wind-king, Merlin was going to count his blessings and retreat to his new room.

The small chamber was mostly empty and Merlin loved it instantly. It was almost quiet, with the soft humming of a few old crates, books and the bed to keep him from getting too spooked by the near-silence. The background rumble of the city and castle were still there, of course, but without the over-riding noise of humanity, they were much more bearable. Merlin opened the window and leaned out, smiling as the gentle sound of the sleep-muted town washed over him. Maybe Camelot wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  
~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~    


_“Merlin... Merlin...”_

The words echoed through Merlin’s head as he drowsed awake, and he sat up, rubbing his eyes. The busy clamour of Camelot filled his mind with sound, but behind that he thought he could hear something calling to him. But that couldn’t be right, could it? He couldn’t hear anyone nearby who might sound like that, and the music never had words. It must have been a dream, then, or perhaps just a figment of his imagination.

As he got dressed, he found the general noise of the city had faded overnight into something more bearable, much to his relief. He wandered out to see if green-forest Gaius was up, and found him puttering around and making breakfast. Merlin tried not to hum along with the bright sunlight dancing in the window as it harmonised with the happy room, and instead sat down to eat the porridge he was offered. He was contentedly enjoying the music and the food, and didn’t notice forest-Gauis sneaking up behind him until the clash of water falling made him look up and automatically pause the bucket half-way to the floor. Gaius gasped, and Merlin realised what he’d done. He unpaused the music and let the fall finish sounding.

Gaius stared at him, wide-eyed. “How did you do it? Did you incant a spell in your mind?”

Merlin thought about telling the truth. About saying that he’d just paused the notes of the water and of the bucket, and then let them play again, and that he didn’t know any spells because he had never needed them, the music did it all for him. He wondered what Gaius would say, and if the physician knew anything about the music. If Merlin was the only one to hear these things, or if, perhaps, it was just a normal part of being a sorcerer. Surely if anyone knew, Gaius would? He had so many books on so many things, and Hunith had said he was a very learned man.

But there was a part of Merlin was afraid to ask, terrified that he would find out he was the only one who could hear the world, or that he was mad. And it was so lonely, sometimes, being the only one to hear the mountains or the trees or the summer, to be lost in his own world all the time and have to make an effort to connect with other people every time he wanted to have a conversation. The music was beautiful and he couldn’t imagine ever living without it, but sometimes he felt like no one would ever understand him, that he would never be close to anyone, because how could he be when they were deaf?

But on the other hand, if it turned out that all magic-users could hear the music - Merlin almost thought he didn’t want to know. He was so used to the songs being private, just for him, he could hardly imagine sharing them with anyone else, let alone with anyone who could do basic spells.

And another part, a secret and not-very-nice part, hoped he was the only one, because even if Merlin denied it, he did want to be special and important and unique. And maybe Gaius wouldn’t know, anyway, just because he had a lot of books didn’t mean they were on magic. Besides, it would be illegal for him to have spellbooks, wouldn’t it?

So Merlin kept quiet and mopped at the water humming over the floor.

Surprisingly and to Merlin’s relief, Gaius didn’t seem too annoyed. Instead, he sent Merlin to run errands around the castle. That alone made Merlin half-suspect he didn’t know about the music - the sheer loudness of the castle was confusing, disorientating, and finding his way around was a real challenge. After dropping off the medicines, he wandered aimlessly, taking in the chiming glass windows and fierce-clanging armour that made every guard sound so loud.

As he meandered, a song caught his attention. One strong, resonant note was clearly audible above the all the clamour, and Merlin followed it over to the group of young men. He watched them curiously, wondering who could possibly sound like both the distant and glorious coming of spring, and also like the resonating brightness of a slow-burning fire. It was such an unusual combination, two melodies that Merlin had never thought to associate in any way, but together somehow startlingly beautiful - a perfect complement to the deeper thrum of Camelot.

It seemed to be a blond boy, maybe a few years older than Merlin. The boy spoke, and somehow Merlin could hear his words more clearly than any other voice he’d ever heard, cutting through the background noise like it wasn’t even there. Merlin wondered who he could be, this strangely audible boy who was ... throwing knives at someone? Surely there was a mistake. Someone who sounded like that couldn’t be such a prat.

A short time later, Merlin was sitting in the dungeon, wondering how the prince could sound so clear and harmonious but be such an arse. But at least the dungeon was quiet, and Merlin was glad of some space where he could sit and let the song of the city wash over him, letting him gradually grow accustomed to the relentless and ongoing sound.

  
~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~    


The next morning, Merlin was woken again by a voice calling his name. The call penetrated the fog of sleep and he started to his feet, wondering what on earth beneath the city could sound like that. It felt as if the mountain beneath the castle was summoning him, but of course that couldn’t be right, could it? And there was fire there too, somewhere deep below. How could that be possible?

And then forest-Gaius was there, and somehow Merlin ended up in the stocks, at the receiving end of a rain of discordant vegetables and talking to a pretty, softly-humming girl. Gwen seemed friendly and her endearing awkwardness made Merlin feel at ease, as did her chiming similarity to a field of flowers in spring. He smiled after her as she walked away and hoped he would get to see her again. She was relaxing to be near.

Later, cleansed of the off-sounding and off-smelling vegetables, Merlin sat and listened to Gaius talk of magic.

It was certainly flattering to hear that he was special, and as Gaius spoke of elemental, instinctive power and of spells and incantations, Merlin grew even more certain that no one else heard the music. The thought was both gratifying and disappointing, that he was “a question that had never been posed before.”

He considered telling the physician, asking him about it, but when he questioned Gaius’s own experience of magic, Gaius changed the subject. And when he mentioned a dragon kept beneath the castle, Merlin realised what had been calling to him and was completely distracted.

Gaius seemed to have never-ending errands that took Merlin to all the far corners of the castle, but he didn’t complain, wandering through the echoing halls and contemplating what the physician had told him about the dragon.

When he finally found the right place (after getting lost several times), it turned out that Lady Helen wasn’t in her chambers. Merlin moved to leave the vial on the table, but as he did so he noticed that the straw doll sitting on the table was humming two notes. One was normal, expected - the sound of straw, cord and beads; but the other sound was eerie and unfamiliar, prickling over his skin like a thousand tiny claws. He picked the doll up and looked it over, but nothing he could see could be making the second sound. It had to be the doll itself, and that was something he’d never encountered before. The two songs intermingled strangely, creating an intricate duet unlike anything he’d ever heard. And a book nearby was the same, two notes sounding together from one object.

Merlin was peering curiously at the book when he heard a soft hum behind him and quickly put everything back on the table, whirling around just as Lady Helen walked into the room. She sounded oddly familiar, but Merlin didn’t want to hang around and work out why, not when she was staring at him like that. He gave her Gaius’s medicine and fled, still wondering how one thing could have two songs.

After going back to Gaius’s chambers and finding the old man gone, Merlin decided to go for a walk through the town to try and get accustomed to the noise. After all, if he was going to live here, he would need to get better at dealing with the constant loud humming of the busy city.

He heard the prince long before he saw him, and kept his head down as he walked past. Merlin had hoped that he’d been mistaken, that Arthur hadn’t actually resonated such a perfect note while being such a perfect prat, but it seemed that both the resonance and the pratliness were still there. And his voice was still strangely audible above the crowd. It was disconcerting, to hear a voice so clearly, but Merlin hoped his distraction wasn’t too obvious as he dodged and ducked and tried not to let Arthur kill him with a mace. It was also hard to hear anything else over the beauty of Arthur’s song, and Merlin found himself falling over things that he hadn’t noticed, distracted as he was.

Tripping and stumbling backwards, he tried to tune out the prince and listened desperately for anything that sounded remotely useful. A pair of sickles caught his ear and he hummed “tangled” at them and Arthur’s weapon, buying himself a few seconds to scramble to his feet. A box was shifted to sound like an obstacle, the rope’s note was changed to _taut_ , and Merlin grabbed his own mace from where it had fallen on the floor. It sang confidently in his hand as he shouted at the prince.

“Do you want to give up?”

Arthur’s expression was incredulous as he backed away. “To you?!”

“Do you?” Merlin started to smile as he advanced. Now he knew what a whirling mace sounded like, he could keep his going with no trouble at all, and when Arthur tripped on the convenient sack Merlin grinned triumphantly. But then a familiar green note from behind him caught his ear and he turned to see Gaius staring at him from the crowd. Merlin felt his stomach drop to his feet at the disappointed look on the old man’s face, and then the rest of him was falling too as Arthur struck him hard from behind.

Two loudly clanging guards pulled him to his feet, but surprisingly, he wasn’t being arrested again. Instead, Arthur instructed his men to let Merlin go.

Merlin was relieved, but somewhat disconcerted as Arthur stared him with a strange expression on his face.

“There’s something about you, Merlin.” Arthur mused, and Merlin’s belly roiled in fear - suddenly conscious of how much magic he’d just used in front of the crown prince.

But then Arthur continued, “I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

Merlin breathed a sigh of relief as the prince walked away, though deep inside, a small part of him wished Arthur would come back and let Merlin enjoy his music some more. He quashed that thought quickly.

  
~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~    


Gaius was yelling at him again, berating him again, anger and concern strong enough to turn his forest-note sour. Merlin winced at the discord, but it didn’t stop him from finally letting his fear and frustration come to the surface as he yelled back.

“What is there to master? I could move objects like that before I could talk!”

“Then by now you should know how to control yourself!”

“I DON’T WANT TO!” The words burst out of him, fierce and uncontrolled, and he found himself shaking with emotion as he continued. “If I can’t use magic, what have I got? I’m just a nobody. And I always will be.”

Gaius’s song came back in tune, his face softening as he looked at the boy before him. Merlin’s shoulders heaved as he took a deep breath.

“If I can’t use magic...” he trailed off, trying to imagine a world where there was no music. Where everything were silent, without the constant reassuring thrum of the world beneath his feet or the chirruping of leaves, without the singing of sunlight or soft whisper in the air that heralded the coming autumn. The idea of a world without sound was utterly horrifying. Merlin shuddered violently.

Complete silence was unimaginable. The mere thought of a life without magic, without sound and music and life... it was unbearable. Only when people died did their resonance stop, fading from bright sound to almost-silence. There was still the soft hum of flesh, but that was nothing like the ringing music of life. Silence was like death, but more terrifying.

Merlin thought he could bear anything but silence.

“I might as well die.” Merlin said the words softly, staring into Gaius’s eyes. Then he turned, fleeing the soft harmony of the physician and his chambers for the comforting murmur of his room.

A few minutes later, Gaius was at the door. The pack he carried chattered with medicines, so Merlin did as he was bid, sitting up and letting the physician clean his scrapes and scratches with a clean-sounding balm. He relaxed a bit, letting some of the tension seep from his muscles as Gaius tended to him.

“You don’t know why I was born like this, do you?” he asked plaintively.

“No,” Gaius replied as he dabbed at the wounds, eyes kind and so completely empty of comprehension of what it must be like to be Merlin that he ached with loneliness.

Sometimes, when he talked about the crops sounding ripe or the music of spring in the air, Will had just looked at him in a way that Merlin felt like another kind of being all together, and the gulf between himself and the rest of humanity seemed unfathomably deep. He felt like that now. Though he couldn’t imagine living without the music, would never dream of giving it up, but above all he just wanted to know _why._

“I’m not a monster, am I?” Merlin tried to make it sound like a joke, but he somehow doubted it came across that way. Gaius’s hand stilled, and he pulled away. A pang of despair shot through Merlin, and he drew back too.

But the old man merely stared deep into his eyes and said softly, “Don’t ever think that.”

“Then why am I like this?” Merlin asked desperately. “Please. I need to know why.”

But Gaius only shook his head. A surge of disappointment swept through Merlin, and he looked down. “If you can’t tell me, no-one can.”

If his magic did have a purpose, and he hoped that it did, perhaps he would find out eventually. The comforting chorus of his room in the afternoon sun washed over him as he sat and wished with all his might that one day he would know.

Gaius gave him a soft-humming tonic and left him to his thoughts. Merlin lay down and let music echo soothingly through his mind, as it had always done. Soon he drifted off to sleep, but his dreams were haunted by the intangible spectre of silence.

  
~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~    


It was dark. The dragon was calling him. Merlin sat up, hearing the voice resonate up from deep underground, penetrating the thick stone between them like it didn’t exist. He pulled on his coat and crept out.

Getting past Gaius and the dungeon guards was easy enough, and Merlin followed the distant thrum deeper and deeper into the bowels of the castle. It grew steadily louder, until he found himself in a massive cavern that reverberated with the song of the dragon. Merlin listened in awe as the creature landed before him, an echoing harmony of fierce flames and ancient mountains sweeping over him in immense waves. It was so big, and so loud.

Fortunately, the dragon’s voice was like Arthur’s and Merlin could hear the words it spoke remarkably clearly over the music resonating through the huge space.

“How small you are, for such a great destiny.”

The two tones of bright-burning fire and ice-crusted mountains entwined and curled and wove around him, and he was distantly reminded of the strange-sounding objects in Lady Helen’s chambers. But they were to this as a single leaf to an ancient and massive tree, and the immensity of the music almost overwhelmed Merlin as he gazed at the creature before him.

It had mentioned destiny. Merlin swallowed against the hope that swelled in his throat and asked, “Why? What do you mean? What destiny?”

“Your gift, Merlin, was given to you for a reason.”

The relief was so powerful it was almost a shock, to find that there really was a reason behind it all, that he had a great destiny that had been foretold. He was somehow a little less than surprised to hear that Arthur was destined to be a great king - it made sense, given what Merlin had heard. He would, though, be a great royal arse, and Merlin didn’t really want to have to hang around and deal with the amazing-sounding prince’s prat-like behaviour for years to come. But the dragon seemed convinced that Merlin’s role was important.

“Without you, Arthur will never succeed. Without you, there will be no Albion.”

Well, Merlin had wanted a purpose to his magic, a reason for why he had been set apart from every other person he had ever met. But surely this couldn’t be right? Maybe they meant a different prince Arthur, who resonated with an even better sound.

“There is no right or wrong. Merely what is, and what isn’t,” the dragon told him.

Merlin scowled, because that was really, really unhelpful. But even as he protested that surely there had to be another Arthur, that this one was an idiot, he knew the dragon hadn’t made a mistake. The prince sounded unlike anyone Merlin had ever encountered, and it all made sense.

The dragon’s laugh echoed in harmony with its song, and then it was flying away.

“Wait! Stop! I need to know more!” Merlin shouted after it, a wave of disappointment surging though him. He hadn’t even had a chance to ask about the music - surely, if anyone knew, it would be the dragon. But the creature had already disappeared, leaving Merlin standing on the ledge and wondering what on earth he was going to do now.

  
~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~    


The following morning, Merlin learned that Gwen really was as nice as she had first seemed, that the Lady Morgana was beautiful and reminded him of an eagle soaring, and that hen-bane and sorrel sounded remarkably similar. He spent a good part of the afternoon wandering the nearby woods in search of the plants Gaius had asked him to fetch, and it was centering to be alone in the gently-singing forest. The noise of Camelot was more bearable now than when he had first arrived, but the effort of listening to words over the clamour all morning had left him with a pounding headache. The soft familiarity of the wood-song was so relaxing. Merlin leaned against a tree and let the music wash over him, and he was asleep.

Fortunately, finding the herbs was easy enough with the help of magic, and he wasn’t too late getting back. Gaius scowled but didn’t complain, instead rushing Merlin out the door towards the hall, saying something about seeing the castle steward and assisting at the feast. The steward looked relieved when they appeared in the noisy, busy kitchens - it turned out one of the servants had fallen sick, a replacement was required, and Gaius had volunteered Merlin for the position. Not that Merlin particularly minded - the kitchens smelled absolutely delicious, and he’d missed lunch. The cook scowled at him, grumbling about empty hands in her kitchen and skinny boys who obviously didn’t eat enough, and handed over a plate heavily loaded with slightly-burnt treats. Merlin dug in happily, enjoying the friendly clamour of the busy staff.

After he finished eating he was set to assisting with carrying the dishes into the hall, and before he knew it the sun had set and the room was full of well-dressed nobles. Gaius had arrived as well, and Merlin went over to join him, unsure what he was supposed to be doing now the food was laid out. Looking around, he marvelled at the rich garments and bright colours, enjoying the general splendour. The prince caught his attention immediately, resonating brightly from his corner of friends, laughter cutting easily through the loud backdrop of sound.

The general cacophony of so many people in a single room was nearly deafening, but Merlin found he was much better able to cope than he would have been only a few days ago. Besides, it was much easier to try and not hear anything at all, and just look.

Morgana scintillated as she crossed the room, and Merlin watched her curiously. Her proud, strong note intrigued him, seeming at odds with everything he’d thought a young noble-woman was supposed to be. The chiming behind him told him Gwen had joined him, and he turned to her with a smile, hoping she didn’t notice how much trouble he was having hearing what she was actually saying over all the noise.

They chattered and laughed together, and then it was time for the feast to begin. The nobles seated themselves and Merlin took up his assigned position near the high table as the king entered and introduced Lady Helen to sing for them all.

Merlin had really been looking forward to this - hearing such a famous singer perform was an honour few could boast. He was not disappointed. The Lady Helen had a beautiful voice, and Merlin found it surprisingly easy to focus on her singing over the general chorus of the crowd. He was a bit surprised, as he had never heard anyone sound like that before, but then she was the most famous singer in the land. Maybe that was why?

It was strange, though, because her voice seemed to have two layers to it - just like the dragon, and the objects in her room. He could hear a second tone beneath the first, twining in harmony around the song as Lady Helen walked forward. It was beautiful, eerie and familiar and foreign, and Merlin let the sound wash over him with pleasure.

But then her voice swelled and the second tone changed, and now she was singing _sleep_. But why would she be singing that? Surely it must be a mistake. Then Merlin noticed the nodding heads, the closing eyes and pillowing of heads on arms as all those listening began to fall into slumber. He quickly covered his ears, wondering what on earth was going on.

The woman was still moving forward, and still singing, and the second tone shifted again. Now cobwebs were growing over the sleeping nobility, and Merlin looked around frantically, wondering what he should do.

Lady Helen kept singing, and now she was approaching the high table. Merlin looked from her to the sleeping prince, and then he heard the dagger in her sleeve. Her song rose to a crescendo and Merlin knew he had to do something.

The old chandelier needed only the soft hum of _falling_ and then suddenly it was crashing down, knocking her to the floor and silencing the sleep-song.

Merlin uncovered his ears and looked around at the still-sleeping courtiers. There was a moment of stillness, and he wondered if he needed to start humming _awake_. But then they were rousing, untangling themselves from the thick cobwebs and starting to murmur in confusion.

Eyes went to the woman lying on the floor, and Merlin suddenly realised why she had sounded familiar - it was the witch from the courtyard, from only a few days ago. And before anyone could act, she had hurled her knife at the prince.

Merlin didn’t think. Action was instinctive. He slowed the song of the room and dashed forward, grabbing Arthur and yanking him out of the path of the sharp-sounding dagger. They both crashed to the ground and lay there, staring at the weapon now embedded in the chair. Exhilaration shot through Merlin’s veins and he gasped for breath, a grin spreading over his face as he heard the witch’s note fade to nothing. He couldn’t find it in himself to regret her silence.

Then the north-wind King Uther was thanking him, rewarding him. Merlin grinned even wider until he heard the words “Prince Arthur’s manservant,” and he thought he must have misheard over the noise of the crowd. How was a job as a servant a reward?

From Arthur’s expression, it seemed that the prince agreed with him.

But the crowd was applauding, and Gaius was beaming proudly, and Merlin suspected neither of them had much choice in the matter.

This was going to be interesting.

  
~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~    


A few hours later, Merlin was sitting in his room. He stared at the small candle with its happily chiming flame, thinking about his new position and about how the fire sounded a bit like the prince. He hadn’t the faintest idea what a manservant did, and though Gwen had promised to help as much as she could, he suspected he was still going to be hopeless.

There was a knock on his door and Gaius came in, carrying something that sounded - strange. Apparently, he agreed with the dragon about Merlin’s destiny being Arthur, handing the package to Merlin with a smile.

Merlin opened the wrappings, and his eyes widened as he revealed a book that chimed with the two notes he was coming to associate with magic. But this was nothing like Lady Helen’s book, or her strange straw doll. These two notes were much richer, more potent, resonating in a clear, strong harmony that reminded Merlin of the dragon as they caressed his thoughts. He opened it and flipped through the pages, a huge grin spreading over his face.

“But this is a book of magic!”

“Which is why you must keep it hidden,” Gaius told him, looking stern.

“I will study every word!” Merlin promised, paging through the wonderful book with delight.

A knock on the door interrupted them, and a clanging guard called, “Merlin! Prince Arthur wants you, right away!”

Merlin left the book on his bed and went, smiling. Gaius was clearly proud of him, the comforting forest-song following him out the door. Camelot was feeling more and more like home each day now. And if the prospect of spending more time with the fire-prince wasn’t so terrible, well, he certainly wasn’t going to admit it.

  
~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~    


Much later that night, after Arthur had given his new manservant a fierce glare and a long set of instructions, and then dismissed him until the following morning, Merlin crept across the courtyard.

The dragon was waiting for him. “It is as I predicted, young warlock. You will stay with the young prince and protect him from those who may wish him harm.”

If anyone had told Merlin a week ago that a dragon could sound smug and that it was really annoying when it did, he would have thought they were crazy. But it was really, really annoying.

“He’s still a prat, even if I do have to be his manservant. What does a manservant do, anyway? How is this supposed to be a reward?” He grumbled as the dragon laughed at him.

“It is not a reward. It is destiny.”

“I didn’t ask for a destiny!” Merlin argued, carefully ignoring the fact that only a few days ago he would have been thrilled by the idea.

“But you have been given one nonetheless. It is up to you to do with the responsibility as you will.”

“You’re really not helping.”

The dragon just laughed again. Merlin glared at it, wondering how it managed to have a laugh that fitted so well into the resonating harmony. And that thought reminded him why he had come to see the dragon in the first place. Butterflies bloomed in his belly.

“Dragon - I have a question.”

The dragon somehow seemed to raise an eyebrow. “What could possibly make you think that I will have an answer?”

“If you don’t,” Merlin paused and took a deep breath, then continued, voice shaking. “If you don’t, then no one does. If you don’t know - I have no idea what I’ll do.”

The dragon bent his head towards Merlin. “Ask, then.”

Merlin took another deep breath, swallowed against the fear, and asked, “Do you hear the music?”

The dragon reared back, flapping his wings and throwing his head into the air. “Do I hear the music? Do I hear the music! Do you know nothing of your gifts, that you ask me such a question?”

“If I knew, would I ask? What do you know? Tell me!”

“The music is soul of the world. No human has ever before been granted the ability to hear as you hear, to know what you know. ”

Merlin felt the knowledge settle into his stomach like a weight. It was as he had suspected - he was alone, separated from the rest of humanity by an unbridgeable chasm, forever destined to always be different from the people he knew and loved. He was glad to finally know, but it was cold, lonely knowledge.

The dragon hadn’t finished speaking. “The music is, however, known to human kind. Those who practice magic may seek a trance state in an attempt to hear what you hear. However to do so is fraught with risk. Many who try are never able to find their way back. Those who succeed may go mad from the overwhelming nature of what they find. It is rare for any but the High Priests and Priestesses of the Old Religion to attempt this.”

He lowered his head to stare into Merlin’s wide eyes. “You should not tell anyone else about what you can hear.”

Merlin nodded vaguely, lost in his own thoughts. “Do you hear the music?”

The dragon smiled, bent his head and then leapt into the air, flying away without answering; leaving Merlin, startled, staring after him in surprise and disappointment as harmonious laughter echoed through the cavern.

  
~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~    



	2. Chapter 2

It was probably a good thing, Merlin decided, that Arthur’s voice was easily audible over his song - otherwise, Merlin would never have been able to focus enough to hear the long lists of chores Arthur kept giving him. Or hear anything the prince said, really, because Arthur was enough of a prat that listening to his beautiful fire-and-spring music was much more pleasant than actually paying attention to what he was saying.

But it wasn’t just that. Somehow, it was strangely nice to be able to hear Arthur so well - it was oddly comforting, as well. It made Merlin feel more like a normal person, especially after the dragon’s revelation about the music. He still lay in bed at night, listening to the symphony of life around him and feeling like the only person awake in a world full of walking sleepers. To be able to bicker and argue with the prince, without having to expend any effort to hear him over the constant roar of the city and all its many citizens, was reassuring - and it was fun.

Doing the chores he kept getting assigned was less pleasant, but Gwen was there to help him, the steward was only a little annoyed by Merlin’s sudden promotion, and the kitchen staff already liked him. From there, once he learned what ‘clean’ sounded like, it was easy enough to get the work done. And if the prince was annoyed at a servant who seemed to be singing or humming _all the time, Merlin, really_ , he didn’t complain too much.

Arthur was still an arse, of course, but he sounded so fascinating and was so dedicated to the things he loved (even if they were clearly stupid things like fighting in a pointless tournament) Merlin could forgive him the general idiocy and prat-like behaviour. And then Merlin discovered that Valiant’s shield sounded like a nest of snakes because it actually was a nest of snakes, and that the king really was as fierce and cold as he sounded, and even if Arthur hated him but he still couldn’t let the stupid prat die.

When Merlin finally managed to use a spell from the magic-book for the first time, to change the statue into a real dog, he heard that strange duality of sound again. He wondered if the second layer was the magic, or if the magic caused the second song - but then dismissed the question in favour of saving Arthur’s life (again).

And then, somehow, Arthur didn’t hate him after all, and life went back to something that might, one day, resemble normal. After that, time seemed to fly by - though Merlin was astounded at how often Camelot was be struck by some new calamity.

As the weeks passed, Merlin learned what magical illness sounded like, that the presence or absence of poison in a goblet was impossible to hear over the din of a room full of angry nobles, that pretty handmaidens who sounded like a rainstorm were not always to be trusted, and that magical creatures like the griffin also resonated with the same beautiful duality of harmony as the dragon.

It was a surprise to Merlin that an evil murderous sorceress didn’t sound evil, or that the flesh-eating griffin didn’t sound like a monster. Their songs were no different from anything else Merlin had encountered, and there seemed to be no specific sound that indicated _evil._

Merlin thought this was rather unfortunate. He could have used the hint before Edwin, with his strange-sounding beetles and mossy-forest note, attempted to kill both Gaius and Uther. Or when Sophia and Ulfric arrived at the court, resonating like warm sunlight and then ensorcelling the prince. Merlin was amazed by the tingling music of the Sidhe, resonating like underwater sunshine, but the bright warmth turned to burning heat as they bespelled Arthur and pushed him under the glittering, gently-thrumming water. The bright-tingling staff was surprisingly powerful, vaporising the two would-be fae into a flurry of separate notes that petered away to nothing, leaving Merlin scrambling to hear Arthur under the cold humming water.

On the other hand, Lancelot did not sound especially noble or strong. He rang with the cool comfort of a pure forest spring, and Merlin was enthralled by the serenity of the sound. It harmonized beautifully with Gwen’s flower-song, he thought as he listened happily.

The druid boy was another conundrum. If the dragon hadn’t told Merlin that he was the only one who could hear the music, Merlin would have been convinced that the boy heard it too. As it stood, the boy’s voice rang clear as a bell in his head, just like the music, and the dragon was telling him to just let the boy die.

By this point, Merlin was fairly sure that evil had no particular sound, but that didn’t stop him from listening closely to the boy’s song. It reminded him a bit of Gaius, deep and green and somehow mysterious, like a deep pool of water in a silent forest. As well as that, the boy reminded him even more of himself when he was young - vague and silent, as if he was lost inside his own head. And Merlin _almost_ did as the dragon told him, but somehow he just couldn’t. He was only a boy, and he sounded so innocent and so young, and Merlin couldn’t disappoint Arthur like that.

The black knight was something else altogether. Merlin could hear the armour clanging loudly, but the man inside seemed completely silent. It was as if he were dead. As if he did not exist. The eerie, unnatural silence was terrifying. Gaius named the creature a wraith and Merlin went to the dragon to beg for aid.

The combination of the best, strongest-sounding sword Merlin could find and the dragon’s roaring flame resulted in the most beautiful weapon Merlin had ever heard. Excalibur chimed in harmony with Arthur’s ringing resonance, fierce and bright and strong, like the fire from which it was born. But then Uther was wielding it, and the clashing discord between his cold-river-wind and the blade’s incandescence made Merlin wince. The weapon was still able to destroy the wraith, fire burning the silent undead creature away to nothing, but the horrible screaming dissonance of Uther-and-Excalibur was almost more than Merlin could bear.

The dragon was, of course, furious, and Merlin was forced to take the blade and hide it in a lake that could conceal its fiery radiance. One day, he hoped, it would sing for Arthur as had been intended.

By now, Merlin was learning steadily. The spell-book helped, and through it he found he could use words to shape the eerie, second layer of sound he had come to associate with magic. Sometimes it was easier to just change the music, as he had always done, but for bigger changes the words seemed more effective.

His friendship with Gwen and Morgana grew steadily stronger, and Merlin settled comfortably into palace life. Arthur too seemed content with his servant. For his part, Merlin loved nothing better than to sit and listen to the prince’s song as he cleaned armour or sharpened a sword, and Arthur didn’t seem to mind his servant’s presence. They bickered and teased each other relentlessly, and Arthur was always taunting Merlin about his constant music-making, but the prince almost never ordered him to be silent.

 

  
~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~    


Hunith’s arrival at Camelot was a surprise and a delight, but the news she brought was not. Without Merlin there to twist the bandits into harmony and send them away content, Kanen was asking for more than the village could afford to give and would not take no for an answer.

It was no surprise that Uther refused to help. Arthur’s and Morgana’s protestations gave Merlin a surge of happiness, but he knew they could do nothing. But Merlin’s aid was all the village would need, and he would return with his mother to protect Ealdor. He would miss his friends, but the village needed him. His mother needed him.

When Merlin found he couldn’t dissuade proud-soaring Morgana or sweet-flower Gwen from coming with them, he was torn between delight and resentment. Their desire to help was gratifying but how was he going to re-tune the bandits, or at least scare them away, without revealing himself?

Late that night, he stared into the fire and wondered how they would react if (when, a small voice whispered) they found out his secret, anxiety twisting tight knots in his belly. He’d just about convinced himself that he wouldn’t mind not going back to Camelot, if it came to it, when he heard the unmistakable sound of Arthur approaching. A wave of pleasure swept through him, and though it was tinged with unease, the sheer joy he felt at hearing the bright resonance of Arthur’s song was surprising in its intensity. He couldn’t believe how much he’d missed the familiar sound of Arthur in the mere hours they’d been separated, hadn’t realised how much he had come to rely on Arthur’s continuing presence nearby and how much he’d felt the absence of that bright music when he had left it behind. He tried to ignore the anxiety blossoming into cold, hard fear, and the knowledge of how much it would hurt if (when) he had to leave Camelot behind forever.

Ealdor was much quieter than he remembered, but the chorus of the village was so wonderfully familiar Merlin couldn’t help the huge grin that spread over his face as they rode towards it. When he heard the familiar chuckle of Will’s stream-song he raced to hug his old friend, alight with happiness. But somehow, Will was not the same as Merlin remembered. He seemed - deeper, colder, angrier. And he soured with fear and anger as he argued with Arthur before storming away and leaving Merlin to chase after him in confusion and disappointment.

Their argument was not a surprise, and Merlin knew his friend had a point, even though he didn’t want to admit it. Merlin had changed since he had left Ealdor only a few short months ago, and now he felt like he no longer fitted into the simple, sweet harmony of the small village. Will’s anger had only served to make him feel even more a stranger in what had once been his own home. It was all so bewildering - the new strangeness of Will, the incongruity of Arthur’s bright resonance and the simplicity of the village song, the growing fear of what the prince would do when he found his manservant was a liar and a wizard. And not just any wizard, but one who could hear what no man had ever heard before, powerful and loyal to Arthur alone. And if Arthur sent him away - well. Merlin had no idea what he would do, if Arthur despised him. If he would never hear that bright, happy song again. He tried not to think about it.

When Matthew’s silent body approached, Merlin knew they were in trouble. When the loud, fierce raiders came rushing towards the village, he felt guilt shoot through him, hot and sharp as a blade. As men and women went silent around him, he knew he had to act.

Calling on the air was easy, tuning the small breezes together into one mighty chord, a windstorm that sent flying both friend and foe alike. Will stood next to him and Merlin drew strength from his steadfast song, his strongly chiming support. He knew Arthur had seen.

The duel with Kanen was loud and painful to hear, but Merlin was confident in Arthur’s victory. When his prince did win, Merlin turned away from the fading of Kanen’s song. He didn’t want to hear the slow-creeping silence overtake anyone else today. He focused on Arthur, raising his chin and letting the prince’s bright song wash over him once more before he admitted the truth.

He didn’t hear the arrow until it was too late.

When Will took the blame, Merlin held back sobs. As his happy, bubbling song faded, Merlin felt tears running down his cheeks. As silence bloomed in that still, quiet room, Merlin felt despair overwhelm him. Will was gone, and Merlin was alone.

 

  
~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~    


The journey from Ealdor to Camelot was a lot faster on horseback. This time though, Merlin hated the deep song of the mountains, despised the high ringing of sunlight on snow. He didn’t want to hear the music. It was still there, it always was, but at least he could try his best to ignore it and pretend it didn’t exist. He could pretend he was as deaf as the rest of the world, just blissful as they seemed in their ignorance - because how could he bear to hear _life_ when Will was dead, and no one knew Merlin’s secret? Gaius and his mother knew about the magic, but the dragon had told him to keep the world-chorus secret, and he had done as it had instructed. Now not one human soul knew about the music, and Merlin felt utterly alone.

At night, as he lay in the dark and resented the swell of sound from the city, Merlin wondered if it was worth it. If the music was worth the terrible isolation, fear and loneliness. He wished he was normal, just like anyone else, living life in happy silence and never knowing that something was lacking. Not knowing there was anything to miss if he didn’t hear the coming of the winter on the wind, or the sharp sigh of the birds flying south. Not hearing the silence where a friend should be singing bright and clear.

He tried to tell himself that he would give it all up to get Will back again, that Will’s life would be worth the emptiness of silence - but it was a lie, and Merlin hated himself for that. And he hated the music for meaning more to him than he was sure it ever should.

Days turned into weeks, and still Merlin tried to ignore the music. Arthur was strangely considerate of his silent manservant, but Merlin barely noticed, too busy trying not to listen to the prince’s song.

But then he met the unicorn.

The sheer beauty of the creature was incredible, a shining beacon of light and hope, a glorious radiance that bathed him in joy as he gazed at it in awe. As it stepped slowly towards him, he almost believed that it was there for him, to reassure him that he was not alone - that the magic of the world cared for him too. But then Arthur released his arrow, and the beautiful glory was snuffed out, gone as though it had never been. The resulting silence was so painful it was all Merlin could do not to sob like a child. As Camelot began to die around him, strange discord blighting the previously healthy fields, he struggled to find it in himself to care. Will was gone, the world had no unicorn, why should he care for anything or anyone?

But then Arthur was gone on a quest, and he was drinking poison for Merlin, the idiot, and he was dead but then he wasn’t and the unicorn was back and as beautiful as ever, the glory of its music in harmony with Arthur piercing the wall of Merlin’s apathy like it was made of straw.

When they returned to Camelot, Arthur as radiant as ever and smiling like nothing could ever make him sad, Merlin felt a small flame of happiness light in his chest. If he could hear things like the unicorn and Arthur uniting in a duet, he couldn’t find it in himself to hate the magic.

 

  
~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~    


The Questing Beast was deafening. The ferocious, ravenous baying of a pack of hunting hounds rang in Merlin’s ears as it chased them through the forest, stumbling, hearing Sir Bedivere scream and be silenced behind them. It echoed through the caves so loud that Merlin couldn’t tell where it was, and then suddenly it was behind them, going for Arthur who pushed Merlin out of the way, _the prat_ , leaping towards the beast and getting himself bitten like a complete idiot. Merlin heard the instant the poison entered Arthur’s system, the seeping venom dimming the prince’s music as though a thick veil had been drawn over Arthur’s bright flame.

The trek to the Isle of the Blessed was a blur of noise and desperation. The island itself rang with a heady mix of earth and water, into which Nimueh’s soft rain-song merged flawlessly. The deal was an easy decision, his life for Arthur’s, and Merlin watched in wonder as the priestess let her song swell, louder and stronger until dark clouds gathered overhead and real rain began to fall into the goblet that hummed with power.

Merlin did not remember the trip home, did not remember staggering into Gaius’s chambers holding the life-giving water. But he did remember pouring the water into Arthur’s slack, open mouth, stroking the almost-silent prince’s cheek and bending low to whisper encouraging words as the bright music slowly, so slowly, began to get stronger.

He could hardly bear the horrible distorted sound that was now Hunith, sores covering her skin and song almost unrecognisable. And then he realised Gaius had gone to take his place, and the world blurred into noise and desperation once more.

When he reached the island, the green song that was Gaius was almost gone. Enraged, he called on the magic, remembering the lesson of the four elements the physician had taught him so long ago. Here, in a place where earth and water reigned, surely fire would have the power to destroy Nimueh.

But she laughed, and hurled balls of ringing flame back at him, burning his clothes and his skin before he could silence the violent heat. As he lay on the ground, gasping in pain, a strange thought came to him and he remembered Old Man Simmons and the village apple tree.

Agony shot through him as he climbed to his feet and raised his hand, but he knew what to do now. Calling on the rain-song that was Nimueh, he let it swell as she had done only the day before, stretching up to the clouds above, making them thicken and churn with storm-song. Reaching out his mind, he thought _lightning,_ and the high bright chiming blossomed over his head. He felt for Nimueh’s rain and connected it to the storm now raging above them, and the bright lightening rushed down, obliterating the priestess in a blaze of heat and sound.

 

  
~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~    


Late one evening several days later, Merlin watched Gaius pottering contentedly around his room, mixing some concoction or another for Arthur’s rapidly-healing wound. Hunith’s recovery had been something like miraculous, and she had left for Ealdor that morning. Merlin missed her, but he was glad she was well again.

He had spent the past few days pondering the dragon’s betrayal, and wondering how much he could trust anything it had told him in the past. Gaius had been ready to die for Merlin, and Merlin still hadn’t told him the whole truth. The dragon had betrayed him and in light of that, Merlin had come to a decision.

“Gaius? There’s something I need to tell you.”

The old man turned, raising an eyebrow. “Yes, Merlin?”

“Umm. Maybe. You should sit down?”

The eyebrow went even higher, but Gaius put down his equipment and moved over to sit at the table with Merlin, a slight frown on his face. “Merlin. Is this about the Isle of the Blessed?”

Merlin fidgeted uncomfortably. “No - well, sort of. It’s complicated.”

“Just spit it out, boy,” Gaius told him gently.

Merlin stared at the wood-grain of the table, tracing it with his finger as he listened to the gentle hum of the wood.

“What do you know about the musica universalis?”

Gaius’s eyes went wide. “Where did you hear about that?”

Merlin opened the book sitting next to him. With a soft hum, it flipped to a page that was already worn from much use. Gaius stared at the words.

“No, Merlin! You cannot be thinking of trying this. It is far too dangerous! What on earth made you think this might be necessary?”

Merlin started to respond, but Gaius waved him silent.

“I have seen others try to perform this spell. Witches, warlocks, not one of them ever succeeded. It was held to be one of the greatest possible accomplishments, the mark of a great sorcerer, to have heard the musica universalis, the harmonia mundi, and lived to tell the tale. But you do not need to do this! There is no need, and I absolutely will not let you take the risk for so little gain. What would Arthur do if you went mad? No. You must not do it.”

A smile had crept onto Merlin’s face as he stared at the table, and Gaius frowned again. “What is it?”

Merlin looked up. “I don’t need to perform the spell, Gaius.”

Puzzlement filled the old man’s face. “Then why did you ask me about it? Surely not out of academic curiosity.”

Shaking his head, Merlin dropped his eyes back to the table. “No.”

“Then why?”

“Because I don’t need to perform the spell. I can hear it already.”

Gaius’s eyes went wide. “You can hear...”

“I hear the music, Gaius, and I always have. Ever since I can remember, I’ve heard the music. I just didn’t know there was a name for it until I came here.”

Mouth open, Gaius just sat and stared. Merlin kept talking, words that had been held back for so long now coming out in a rush. “I wanted to tell you earlier, but the dragon said not to tell anyone, but after what happened with the Isle of the Blessed I don’t trust anything he ever said and with Will gone it’s been so lonely and I just...” he trailed off, surprised to find he was fighting back tears. He wiped at his face angrily, and looked down again, swallowing against the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry. I should have told you.”

“Oh, Merlin.” Gaius stood up, walked around the table, and pulled the boy into a hug. “Well, I always did say you were special,” he mused. “Though I admit, this was a bit more than I expected.”

Merlin sniffed. “You’re not angry? That I didn’t tell you?”

“No. Well, I wish you had trusted me before this, but it sounds like you thought you had good reason not to.” Gaius let Merlin go, sitting back down at the table. “We’re going to have a talk about what you said about the dragon, but that can wait for another time. I want you to tell me more about what you hear. Imagine, born hearing the harmonia mundi,” Gaius shook his head. “I can hardly believe it.”

Merlin shrugged. “When I was little, I thought everybody could hear it. Will was the one who told me he couldn’t, and I thought he must have been special or something until I realised that Mum couldn’t hear it either. I could hardly believe it.”

“Doesn’t it deafen you? How do you hear anything else?”

“It - I don’t know. Its distracting, sometimes, and hearing voices over the music can be hard, but I’ve gotten a lot better since coming to Camelot.” Merlin huffed a laugh. “It was so loud, when I first got here I thought I’d go mad from it. But I got used to it, eventually.”

“Incredible. Just incredible.”

“Not really,” Merlin shrugged. “It just is, it always has been. I mean, I couldn’t be without it. I can’t imagine how you can live in silence and not go mad. I couldn’t bear to not hear the mountains, or the city, or the spring,” he shuddered at the thought. “I can’t think of anything more terrifying than silence.”

Gaius shook his head. “Incredible. You hear the mountains, the spring? What does it sound like?”

“Um. I don’t know, sort of like flowers? And warm, but not yet, just like it will be. And growing green things. It’s hard to describe. Arthur sounds a bit like spring, actually.”

“Really? People have music too?”

“Of course!”

“Incredible. Can I .. I mean. What do I sound like?”

Merlin smiled. “You? Like the forest - green, and comforting. I used to hide in the forest when I wanted to get away from the village, and when I first heard you I thought you sounded just like the trees I used to sing with.”

“Oh, Merlin,” Gaius smiled. “You really are quite extraordinary. I hardly believe such a thing could be possible, and yet here you sit. Just - incredible.”

Warmth rose to Merlin’s cheeks, and he looked back down at the table.

“Merlin.”

He looked back up. Gaius was still smiling at him. “My boy. Tell me everything.”

Much later, Merlin went to bed smiling. Somehow, he didn’t feel nearly so lonely any more.

 

  
~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~    


After that, time flew past. Merlin could hardly keep track of all the crazy things that kept trying to kill Arthur or take over Camelot or whatever, and really, they all just blurred into one big discordant mass of bad-things-to-defeat. Though a few events did stand out from the rest.

Morgause was a waterfall, forceful and strong. Merlin didn’t trust her, or the silent phantom of Igraine she summoned.

Freya sounded like the high mountain lake she longed for, a peaceful note Merlin thought he could listen to and love for the rest of his life. He tried not to think about how much he missed her after she was gone.

Morgana’s betrayal was not the surprise it should have been, somehow. The dragon’s warnings had planted the seed of doubt, and Merlin could only regret that he had not been able to stop her.

The Crystal of Neahtid sang a resonant, glorious symphony in his hands, the entwining songs of past, present and future both alluring and terrifying even as he tried not to listen.

When the soft, irresistible lullaby-spell filled the castle, Merlin felt fear. The silent, undead knights terrified him, and the quiet, deadly note of the hemlock hummed a constant reminder of what he had to do. And even though he knew it was necessary, the slow, agonised fading of Morgana’s proud-eagle song would haunt him.

Freeing the dragon was easier than he had thought it would be, but when the beast turned on the city Merlin knew they were in trouble. He could do nothing against the mighty song of fire-and-mountain, and neither could the knights of Camelot.

Balinor was just a man, in the end. Merlin had expected him to sound - different, special, and in some ways he did. There was a soft note of fire underlying his resonance, not quite a second song but somehow reminiscent of the dragon, and Merlin knew it was his birthright as a Dragonlord. But if Merlin had not already known, if Gaius had not told him, he would never have thought the man might be his father.

After Balinor was silenced, Merlin wondered if his song now chimed with that underlying note of fire. He had never been able to hear his own song, so he didn’t know if he had indeed inherited his father’s gift until he stood on the now-quiet field. Mastering the dragon was unlike any magic he had ever performed before, and he could hear the tone of fire ringing through his words as he spoke and forced Kilgarrah to obey his will. And if the victory seemed a hollow one in the face of what Merlin had gained, so briefly, and then lost - well. He tried to put it out of his mind.

 

  
~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~    



	3. Chapter 3

Time passed. Days were full repairing the damage the dragon had wrought, rebuilding houses and lives. Evenings were spent tending to Arthur or talking with Gaius, who seemed to have endless questions, trying to find words to describe what he heard. Gaius wrote down everything Merlin could tell him in a little blue book that carefully contained no names and was hidden behind the leech tank.

It had been spring when Merlin had first arrived in Camelot, so long ago, and now the seasons were turning again. The cold north wind hummed with the approaching winter.

Uther continued to search for Morgana, Arthur leading patrols to all the far-flung corners of the kingdom looking for any sign of her presence. Sometimes he took Merlin on these trips, and sometimes he didn’t.

Merlin hated being left behind. Not only did he worry about Arthur, but the prince’s absence left a palpable hole in the symphony of the castle. There was a silence where his song ought to be, a gap in the tapestry of life that was Camelot, and Merlin hated it. He felt like he was continually reaching for something only to find it gone, as if he were climbing stairs and overestimating how many there were, expecting one too many and then finding his foot falling through air, crashing to the hard stone with a jolt. A hundred times a day he found himself reaching for Arthur’s bright resonance and falling short.

He didn’t know when Arthur’s presence had become so important to him, and somehow he didn’t care. He just missed the prince whenever he was gone, and worried about him constantly. And if, when Arthur was gone, Gaius had to call his name several times before he managed to get Merlin’s attention, or if he didn’t hear Gwen talking to him until she actually touched his arm and made him jump, well - it was just that he was busy and distracted. Nothing more.

When Arthur was in Camelot, Merlin spent most of his days running after the prince. They were almost always together, Arthur ordering Merlin around and Merlin answering back, bickering companionably as Arthur trained the knights or Merlin polished armour. It was so comfortable to spend time in the prince’s presence, so unbelievably easy to hear his voice over the constant background din that Merlin made every effort to spent as much time with Arthur as possible.

Of course, this made Arthur’s frequent trips away even harder to bear. Compared to listening to the prince, Merlin was now much more aware of how much of an effort he had to make just to hear other people speak over the unrelenting noise of the busy castle. It also helped that something about being around the prince also made it more easy to concentrate on the real world. It was as though Arthur’s familiar music took up enough of his attention that it distracted the part of Merlin that was always listening to the songs, and let the rest of him interact with the real world. When Arthur was away on patrol, Merlin found that somehow he always had a headache.

As the song of winter grew louder, north wind blowing fierce and strong and reminiscent of King Uther, Merlin found it was becoming harder and harder to concentrate on the world. The music rang in his ears as he did his chores, just as it always had but somehow more distracting now. The frequent headaches grew worse.

Arthur returned from another trip away, and suddenly Merlin found he was staring at the prince’s mouth whenever he spoke. He didn’t know what to make of it, until he realised that he was staring at Gaius’s mouth as the old man berated him about something or another, and started to pay more attention to where he was looking. That was how Merlin discovered that whenever he spoke to anyone, he watched their mouth, reading the words from their lips instead of hearing their voices. And when Arthur spoke, because Merlin did not need the extra assistance, only then had he that noticed he was staring at all.

Trips to collect herbs for Gaius became Merlin’s favourite part of the day. He had always relished his time alone with the song of the forest, but now it was a chance to escape the deafening thrum of the castle and the near-constant headache. And if it was a time where he was alone and had no need to concentrate to hear what people were saying to him, well, that was all to the good and probably helped as well. Merlin deliberately did not consider that the strain to hear words over the music could also be the reason for his headache.

And then one morning Merlin woke to find the song of the city overlain with the quiet, constant, beautiful song of fresh white snow. He rushed to open his window, throwing the shutters wide to let the sun stream through, staring down on the snow-covered town and glorying in the beauty of the sight and the sound.

There was whiteness everywhere, singing clean and bright and joyful from every direction. Merlin couldn’t resist letting the sound wash over him, enveloping him, the music sweeping into every part of his mind. It cascaded through him like a river, gentle at first, singing golden and happy and bright, growing steadily stronger. Louder. Soon Merlin could hear nothing else. There was just music. A frisson of fear went through him, and he tried to focus his suddenly-blurring eyesight. But the music was overwhelmingly strong now, a mighty roaring in his ears, an unstoppable torrent of sound and magic flooding through him and washing everything away until there was nothing but white and gold and music. Merlin felt like he was drowning in light, and everything else was fading away. Even as he reached out for the reality he could only just remember, it was gone as though it had never existed. Time no longer had any meaning. There had never been anything but music. There could never be anything else but this golden existence.

“Merlin!”

Arthur’s voice cut through the beauty, jerking Merlin sharply back into reality. His mind reeled with the suddenness of the awakening, the alien feel of stone beneath his fingers and cloth against his skin, the strange variety of colours as the room swam back into focus. For a moment he felt utterly lost. He shook his head, trying to clear it, and looked around. Gaius, Gwen and Arthur were all standing in his room, and all three were staring at him. The music was quieter now, the magic calmed by Arthur’s bright presence. Merlin blinked, searched for words he was sure he had known once.

“...what?” His voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again. “What are you all doing here?”

Gwen looked worried, and her lips were moving. Merlin concentrated hard, trying to hear what she was saying. “Gaius said he came in almost an hour ago to wake you, and you were just staring out the window. I came to meet you as usual, and he was in here trying to get your attention, but we couldn’t get you to respond. Then Arthur came looking for you, because you were so late, he just got here and then you woke up. Are you feeling okay? Is there something wrong?”

Merlin rubbed his face, staring blankly at his friends and trying to focus on the world around him rather than the music in his head. “Um....”

The music was beguiling, but he tried not to listen. He could remember struggling uselessly against the torrent of noise - if Arthur hadn’t been able to call him back to himself, how long would he have been lost for? Would he ever have been able to come back? Or would he have faded into nothing, a dying note unmissed in the bright symphony?

As his mind wandered, the music tugged at his attention, trying to pull him away again. He fought to keep his focus on the people in front of him, focusing on Arthur’s song, letting its simple harmony ground him to the real world.

And then Arthur’s voice cut straight through all the noise, blessedly easy to hear. Merlin had never been so relieved to hear anything in his entire life. “What is wrong with you, Merlin? Are you ill? Or just completely deaf this morning?”

“I - sorry, I was just. Um. Lost in my own head, I guess.”

“Well, there’s enough empty space in there that I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised!” Arthur snarled.

Gaius jumped in at that point. “Are your ears still giving you trouble, Merlin?”

Merlin blinked in confusion. “What?”

Gaius glared meaningfully at him. “You were complaining about your ears last night, remember? I thought you might be getting an infection, and that would explain what happened this morning. How are they feeling now?”

Gwen’s look turned sympathetic. “Oh, yes, Merlin, you do look pale. Though you are normally fairly pale - not that I’m saying that’s a bad thing!”

Merlin tried to smile reassuringly at her. He hadn’t heard every single word she’d said, but he had gotten most of it. It was easier to understand people if he focused on Arthur, somehow - the spring of the prince’s song was a strange contrast to the bright chiming snow all around him, but the unusual dichotomy was oddly easy to let play underneath the words, instead of over the top of them.

The prince was still staring at him, frowning.

“Maybe you should take the day off, if you’re not well,” Gaius suggested, but the idea of not being around Arthur sent a bolt of fear through Merlin. If the prince left, he might get lost in the snow-song again, and not be able to find his way back.

“No! No, I’m sure its fine. I’m fine. I’ll just...” He fished frantically for clean clothes, looking for enough layers to keep him warm in the cold air outside and hoping he hadn’t left the magic book anywhere obvious (again).

“Are you sure?” Gaius gave him the eyebrow look, but right now Merlin was much more worried about losing the world again than he was of any kind of disapproval, and he was soon stumbling towards the training yards after Arthur, wishing he’d not lost so much time as to be forced to skip breakfast.

The morning passed in a whirlwind of confusion. Merlin tried his hardest to concentrate on the world around him, closing his ears to the music and focusing on the cold air biting his face as he watched the knights train, or on the solid reality of the metal in his hands as he sharpened a sword. The prince kept him nearby, to Merlin’s relief, though Arthur kept shooting him strange looks, a frown on his face. Merlin tried his best to appear healthy, innocent, and focused.

Fortunately, the day was easier than he had expected - strangely, somehow a large part of his chores were done before he got to them. When he went to muck out the stables, he found they had already been done, and the floors in Arthur’s chambers were still damp with scrubbing when he got to them. It was a bit odd, as he didn’t know who would have gained access to the room without the prince’s permission, but when he asked Arthur all he got was a glare for his trouble. “Stop worrying, Merlin. You sound like an old woman. Now sit down and polish my amour.”

Merlin spent most of the afternoon in the prince’s chambers, polishing old pieces of armour that Arthur had suddenly decided needed to be spotless, even though he hadn’t used any of them for months. It was an easy task, and the prince’s near-constant company was reassuring. But when Arthur had to go to a council meeting, Merlin had to swallow against the fear thickening in his throat, clutching a pauldron tight to hide his shaking fingers. It would be so easy to let the music sweep him away again, to lose himself in the beautiful symphony. He could so easily be lost, without Arthur nearby to keep him safe.

There was nothing he could do, though, and for the few hours he was alone he tried to close his ears even further. The cold metal in his hands helped, and he found himself reaching out for the reassurance that was Arthur’s distant song every few minutes, letting it anchor him to the real world.

But he did not lose himself again, and the comfort of having the prince nearby made him feel safe, less fragile, less completely foreign and at odds with the world. Because really, getting lost like this was about as ridiculous as it was terrifying - but Merlin couldn’t stop his hands trembling whenever he considered what might have happened had Arthur not come to find him that morning.

The beauty of the music now seemed sinister.

That evening, Gaius scowled worriedly across the table as they ate. It was harder to concentrate without Arthur around, but Merlin was more comfortable being without the prince immediately nearby now, still reaching for him every so often for reassurance but feeling more confident after not having gotten lost at all that afternoon. He did his best to answer the urgent questions as he ate.

“You say that you didn’t notice the time passing?” Gaius pressed, eyebrow demonstrating his concern.

“No! One minute I was opening the shutters, and then Arthur was calling my name. I have no idea how a whole hour could have passed, I didn’t notice anything at all.”

“That is strange. And you say you couldn’t focus on the real world?”

Merlin nodded. “I was lost, Gaius. I couldn’t get back.” He looked down, and then back up again. “I tried, but it was too strong, I just... couldn’t.”

Gaius frowned. “This is worrying. If you could get lost at any time, how are we going to keep you safe?”

“I don’t know!” Merlin said desperately, leaning forward on his elbows. “What can I do? I can’t risk getting lost and not being able to get back! And people are going to notice if I can’t hear them!”

“For now, the priority is keeping your secret and keeping you as grounded as possible,” Gaius told him. “Is there anything apart from Arthur’s voice that helps? Food, cold, touch? None of those worked this morning, but if they could help prevent another attack…”

“Well…,” Merlin pondered. “I guess... I guess people touching me helps? Or at least it has before, even if it didn’t this morning. Arthur being around is best though, his resonance is really grounding - just like the dragon, and his voice helps even more. The problem with other things is their music is just as likely to be distracting as they are to be helpful. Though maybe...”

“Wait,” Gaius interrupted. “You said the dragon was grounding? It helped you?”

“Yes. His song was always in the background, and it really useful for whenever I needed to focus. And his voice is audible in the same way as Arthur’s.” Merlin paused for a moment, then continued. “Do you think that might be why this is happening now? Because the dragon is no longer hidden under the castle?” Merlin leaned back, not sure if he hoped he was right or not.

“It certainly would make sense.” Gaius said, looking thoughtful. “You have only started having trouble after you sent the beast away from Camelot. And now with the prince away frequently, the only other centering force you have is not always present. It makes sense that you would start to have difficulties.”

Merlin nodded, and then frowned. “But what can we do about it? We can hardly bring the dragon back, because someone would definitely notice that. And if I keep hanging around Arthur, eventually he’s going to get suspicious.”

“Well, you do normally spend a large part of your day with the prince anyway, and you are managing well enough with him on the other side of the castle now. We just need to make sure you are not exposed to anything that could overwhelm you without him being nearby, and find a way to make sure you go with him on patrol.”

Merlin groaned with frustration. “Oh, is that all? Great, no problems at all then! That’ll be easy. Oh, Arthur, I’m just going to follow you like a pet dog wherever you go, don’t mind me. And if I seem to be a bit vague, just hit me upside the head and I’ll be fine. Easy as that!”

“Merlin, please,” Gaius glared at him. “I am trying my best to help you.”

Merlin sighed, slumping down to hold his head in his hands. “I know, I know. Sorry.”

Gaius reached out and patted his arm. “I’m sure we’ll work something out. For now, just do the best you can and I’ll see what I can come up with. All right?”

Merlin nodded. “All right, Gaius, thank you. And if I get lost again, just - I don’t know. Please make sure I come back.”

“I won’t let you stay lost, Merlin, don’t worry. We’ll work it out.”

Not really reassured, Merlin took himself off to bed and lay in the dark, trying to ignore the now-ominous singing of the world around him.

~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ 

For the next few days, Merlin stuck as close to Arthur as he could and tried to ignore the music as much as he was able. The prince didn’t seem to notice anything different, or if he did, he didn’t object.

And then one afternoon, Merlin opened the window in Arthur’s chambers to let in some fresh air. The snow chimed in welcome, and all of Camelot just glowed in the soft sunshine, ringing with bright beauty, and he was lost. There was only light, and sound, and all the rest fell away.

A small part of him struggled, fighting against the overwhelming glory that drowned out any capacity conscious thought, protesting the loss of... what? Surely there had never been anything but the song, and the light, and there never could be anything else because what could equal this? But even as that tiny part screamed in terror, it was fading, lost beneath the power and glory of the music, swelling louder still until

 _“Merlin_!”

and he came crashing back into reality, his name on Arthur’s lips like an anchor, the prince’s voice pulling at the centre of his chest and forcing him back to the world. It was like waking from a dream of falling just before he hit the ground, to find himself somehow caught, and safe. He gasped for breath, panting at the shock of his return, and Arthur’s hands were on his shoulders, real and solid, rubbing his back and gently manoeuvring him to sit while the familiar, comforting voice grumbled about his uselessness.

Merlin, still gasping, looked up into Arthur’s worried eyes and wondered how they got to be so blue. “Thank you,” he managed. And he was grateful, so unbelievably grateful, he had never been so grateful for anything in his life.

“What? What are you talking about, Merlin?”

Merlin looked down again, trying to catch his breath, mind still a whirl of panic, fear, thankfulness and music. He tried to reign in his racing thoughts, tried to focus, and something floated to the top. He looked back up at the frowning prince, and smiled. “I’m glad that it’s you.”

Arthur blinked at him, still frowning. “What are you on about, Merlin?” His hands were still on Merlin’s back, rubbing gently, and his tone was exasperated as he continued, “You imbecile, you’re obviously still unwell from whatever it was the other day, why aren’t taking time off like any sensible person would? Of course, I know you aren’t anything remotely resembling sensible, but I can’t believe Gaius let you out if you’re sick. You could be contagious, and I’m sure making the crown prince ill is a crime, I could have you in the stocks for this, you idiot. No, don’t try to get up!”

Merlin tried to fight off the strong grip that keeping him in the chair. “I’m fine! Really, it was just a passing dizzy spell, I’m better, honest, it was nothing.”

“You are staying here until Gaius checks you over. No arguments.” Arthur crossed to the door, sticking his head out into the corridor and ordering a passing servant to bring the court physician, at once, and hurry up about it.

Merlin let his head fall back against the chair, breath still coming a little fast, fighting against the fear swirling in his gut. Arthur obviously didn’t think sorcery was to blame for his servant’s ‘dizzy spell’, which was a relief, but Merlin was still rather desperately anxious that it would happen again. He’d been hoping, after a few days had passed, that the first time had just been a fluke - a one-time occurrence that he could forget had ever happened. But it seemed that it was not, and he was going to need to be much, much more careful in the future.

And then Gaius was there, green and familiar and fussing, taking Merlin back to his room and making him spend the rest of the day reading huge tomes looking for anything that might be an answer.

“What if you blocked your ears? That way you wouldn’t be able to hear the music.”

“Then I couldn’t hear anything else either, which hardly helps! And I think my ears don’t really matter for the music, half the time it feels like I hear it in my head instead of through my ears. That’s why it’s so loud.”

“If the music is magical in origin, maybe something that blocked magic would block the noise...” Gaius mused, rubbing his chin.

“There are things that do that? Block magic?” Merlin asked, surprised.

“Oh, yes. They were instrumental in the great purge - stopping the more powerful from escaping or from using their powers to hurt the king’s men. Powerful magic objects themselves, naturally, they have their roots in the Old Religion. I believe there are some articles still stored in the vaults that block all access to magical power.”

“All access? So - so I wouldn’t hear anything at all, if it worked?”

“Why yes, Merlin. You would be like any other person, no magic at all, not hearing anything apart from the normal sounds of every-day life.”

Gaius had barely finished speaking before Merlin was shaking his head, raising trembling hands as if to ward off an attacker, eyes wide and voice loud. “ _NO_. No, no, not ever, no, oh gods, _no._ ”

Gaius looked surprised at the fear in Merlin’s voice. “Really? I thought it rather a good idea - it would certainly solve the problem of your losing yourself, and it would probably fix the headaches as well. You’d be able to take off the blocking device whenever you needed to do magic. I think it could work quite well.”

An involuntary shudder swept through Merlin’s body, and another. “Nothing could be worse than silence, Gaius. I don’t care if I get lost again, I don’t care if I never come back!” He ducked his head, wrapping his arms around himself, shaking his head. “Not hearing anything... existing in silence? No. I couldn’t stand it, I couldn’t bear - it would be like being dead! No, no, I - no. No, not ever. No.”

“If it scares you so much, my boy, then of course we will try to find another way.” Gaius put a hand on Merlin’s shaking shoulder, trying to reassure him. “I had no idea that silence scared you so much, you never mentioned it before. We will find a different solution, I promise.”

Merlin looked up and tried to smile, but his voice was still shaking. “Thanks, Gaius. I guess the - the silence thing, it never came up.” He shook his head again. “I don’t know how you can bear to live without hearing, live with silence. I don’t care what the risks are, _anything_ is better than that.”

“Then we will find another way.” Gaius reassured him.

Merlin nodded, lowering his head and trying to quell the fear gnawing at his belly. There would be another way, because there had to be. Anything was better than silence.

~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ 

Much later that night, Merlin couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned and then sat up, rubbing his face. He was so used to the soft humming of the city lulling him as he drowsed off, trying to ignore it made it falling asleep nearly impossible.

Almost without a thought, he got up and pulled on a coat, slipping easily past a softly-snoring Gaius to wander aimlessly through the chilly corridors of the quiet castle.

His feet led him along a familiar path, and he stopped at the top of the dungeon stairs before deciding that the cave beneath the castle was as good a place as any to mope undisturbed. Getting past the guards was as easy as ever, and soon he was sitting on the ledge, kicking his feet over the huge space and wondering at how empty it seemed without the dragon-song echoing from the walls.

But somehow, to Merlin’s confusion, there was still a soft, faint ringing of _dragon_ coming from the rocks below. He climbed down the stairs, listening carefully for the fire-and-mountain resonance, and there it was. A scale, about the size of his palm, probably shed months ago, still softly humming with the song of the dragon. Merlin picked it up, running his fingers over the rough, hard surface and letting the music of it centre him and hold him safe.

The next morning, Gaius was sceptical. “You can’t expect to just carry it around in your pocket! What if you lose it? What if it is discovered? How do you explain why you are carrying a dragon scale around?

“So maybe it’s not a permanent solution, but it works for now,” Merlin argued. “Surely that’s enough?”

“Hmmmm,” Gaius remained unconvinced. “I want you to stay as close to the prince as possible anyway. If I teach you more about the basics of healing, that will give you a good enough reason to go with Arthur when he patrols, and then you may not even need the scale.”

“All right.” Merlin agreed, though he was not looking forward to the extra lessons he had no doubt Gaius was going to pile on him. The dragon scale was brilliant, he was sure, and would work perfectly. He didn’t need to worry any more.

~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ 

It was a relief to be able to accompany Arthur on his various missions and patrols. Merlin bickered contentedly with the prince as they travelled, enjoying the new sights and sounds and the comforting familiarity that was Arthur, the scale tucked safely in his pack just in case. The prince seemed happy enough with Merlin following him almost everywhere, and the castle was already used to the sight of the two of them joined at the hip, arguing as they crossed the courtyard or teasing each other on the training grounds. And if Merlin was happiest when Arthur was nearby, well, that was because of the magic, of course.

Months passed, and Merlin made sure to take the scale with him everywhere he went, even with Arthur around. He still struggled to hear voices, and there always seemed to be a headache hovering somewhere around his temples, but he didn’t get lost again and that was enough for him to be content.

There was still no sign of Morgana. Uther refused to stop searching for her, but Merlin was secretly relieved whenever the patrol returned without having found any trace. He hoped Morgause had taken her far away, and that he would never hear either of them again.

Of course, only weeks after Merlin had finally convinced himself that they were gone for good, Morgana came staggering out of the forest, dishevelled and terrified, ringing oh-so-familiar, her eagle-song sounding just as it always had.

And she said she forgave him. For a short while, Merlin let himself believe that it was all going to be alright again.

It took him far too long to realise the magical nature of the eerie discordance that was Uther’s madness, and when he did the knowledge of his role in turning Morgana into Camelot’s betrayer burned like fire in his chest. The guilt was suffocating, overwhelming, and he struggled against it as he fought Morgause’s chains. But he was as helpless against the guilt as he was against the high ringing chains which bound him tight and distracted him with their piercing song, making it so much harder to keep the giant insects away.

Seeing Kilgharrah again after so long was a relief, and Merlin let the dragon’s fire-and-mountain music wash over him and comfort him, safe in the knowledge that he was with the only other being in the world, apart from Arthur, who could recall him to himself. And if the dragon knew what his presence, or his absence, had meant for Merlin, he did not mention it.

It was nice to know, when he finally got back to Camelot, that Arthur had missed him - even if the prat had a poor way of showing it. And then Cenred was attacking the castle and Merlin had to focus so as not to get swept away by the loud mass of humanity clamouring at the gates.

The silent undead skeletons were easy to miss in the roar of the battle raging around them, and Merlin had to listen hard to find the source of the magic. Facing Morgana in the crypt hurt more than he thought it would, her song so familiar and her words so full of hate.

After the battle was won, though, it seemed that the lines were drawn and things went back to some vague semblance of normal. Merlin tried to avoid Morgana as much as he could, and if that meant spending less time in Arthur’s company, well, at least he had the scale to keep him safe for now. Strange things still happened with a startling regularity, but then that was fairly standard for Camelot anyway.

Meeting Gwaine in the tavern was much more fun than any other odd, dangerous things that seemed to happen around Arthur. The other man rang with the cheeky happiness of a magpie, but somehow deeper and more complex as well, with shades of the capricious west wind weaving themselves in and out of the song. A small part of Merlin wanted to sit and listen to him for hours, just trying to hear all the secret aspects of the music he was sure were there under the surface. Of course, it helped that the man was gorgeous. Merlin might be a little distant from the real world at the best of times, but he certainly wasn’t blind, not when there was a fit, half-naked man in his bed, smiling at him in that disarming way.

Gwaine didn’t stay long, but Merlin had hopes of seeing him again one day. Hopefully soon.

Then there was Taliesin, who seemed somehow muted, as if he was not really there, but maybe that was just because the crystals in the cave were so loud. The sheer strength of the cave-song made his head spin, the symphony of past, present and future twining sinuously through his mind and making it hard to focus on anything but the music. Merlin tried not to think about how certain he was that if he hadn’t had the dragon-scale in his pocket, he would probably never have found his way out of the cave again. And then that future came to pass, everything happening just as he had heard that it would, and Merlin despaired, hating destiny and hating a world that showed him these things and left him powerless to change them.

Elena was a sweet-sounding girl, though she always seemed somehow out of tune - as though here were a second song beneath her resonance that Merlin couldn’t quite hear until he and Gaius discovered the Sidhe’s plans and released the changeling inside her. Elyan sounded like the clanging iron that was his trade as a blacksmith, and Merlin was glad they were able to rescue him successfully from the smirking raven-Cenred despite all Morgana’s attempts to thwart them.

Seeing Gwaine again was a delight, and questing with both him and Arthur was the most fun Merlin had had in ages, even with the dead-sounding Perilous Lands and the poor Fisher King alone in the desolate castle. The water in the jar sounded just like what it was - water, nothing to mark it as different from any other. Merlin tucked it away safely, though, just in case.

Time rolled by, strange things happened, and life went on as usual. Merlin kept the scale with him and felt safe. He still tried to ignore the music as much as he could, though, and was careful never to immerse himself in it, the way he had done so often in the past. It was better to be safe, even if he mourned the loss that glorious beauty, fiercely, missing it like he would one of his limbs.

~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ 

And then Leon almost died. Merlin could hardly believe that the only thing that saved him was that cup, the one Merlin had thought safely lost on the Isle of the Blessed, out of reach and hopefully forgotten by all. And then he and Arthur were off on a quest once again, Arthur sounding bright and confident, happy to be on the road, and Merlin happy to be with Arthur.

Getting captured by slave-traders was not exactly part of the plan, even though finding Gwaine was almost enough of a pleasure to make up for the inconvenience. If Merlin had tucked the dragon scale into a pocket of his breeches, safe and hidden and secret, instead of slipping in the rest of the baggage with the royal seal and stash of coin, it would have been. If they had not had to flee for their lives with only the clothes on their backs, he would have had no qualms about the whole experience and would have enjoyed the oddly melodious harmony that was Arthur-and-Gwaine running through the forest.

Unfortunately, this was not what happened.

Merlin had to hide his shaking hands as he leaned against the tree, still out of breath. He was safe, Arthur was safe, Gwaine was safe. The loss of their possessions should be insignificant considering how close they’d come to being killed by the slavers. Merlin had to bite back a groan of frustration and fear. He had _known_ being so reliant on the scale was a bad idea, that having such a crutch could only end badly - as it had. But he still hadn’t found any way of grounding himself that did not involve either the dragon scale or the crown prince. At least Arthur was still there, panting, resonating obliviously as he clipped Merlin over the head for telling Gwaine about the cup.

The song of the forest surged around them, pretty and distracting. It was probably only the fear that made everything seem louder, wilder, that made him think that the music twining around the edges of his awareness anything like a cat stalking a wing-damaged bird. He shook his head, trying to quash the panic slowly uncoiling in his chest and focus on the real world. Arthur. Arthur was there. That would be enough. That would have to be enough.

The cave sounded far too comfortable and familiar for Merlin’s peace of mind, the druids blending into their place in song as effectively as they hid from sight. And when they did emerge, earthy and disquietingly peaceful, it was to be surprisingly accommodating. Merlin felt as suspicious as Arthur looked when the druid handed over the pure, resonant cup without a fight.

He did have to suppress a shudder when they addressed him as Emrys, though, the words echoing through his head and sending ice sliding down his spine. It was one thing to have Mordred name him such in the privacy of their own minds, but to hear the druids address him so with the prince standing _right there_ felt like much more of a risk - even if he knew Arthur couldn’t hear them.

It all seemed too easy, really, and Merlin pondered this as he tried hard not to listen to the melodious woods around them, or the rather loud cup tucked into Arthur’s belt, focusing on his sight and touch, and on Arthur’s song. This turned out to be a mistake, as he was so busy trying to be distracted that he missed the soldiers surrounding them, and suddenly they were running for their lives from Cenred’s soldiers. Arthur was collapsing with an arrow in his leg and the cup was singing radiantly as it flew through the air. Merlin reached for it, trying to twist its song to _here_ , but something in the essence of the metal resisted his attempts and instead it was rolling into the hands of the soldiers, and then it was gone and Arthur was lying unmoving on the ground.

The poison from the arrow flowed insidiously through Arthur’s veins, stealing his strength and tainting his song with disharmony. It made Merlin wince to hear the prince’s bright song sound so wrong. He had to keep his hands from shaking as he tried all he could to force it back into tune, trying any word-spell he could think of when Gwaine was gone, or just keeping his eyes averted while he _pushed_ at the faltering resonance, desperately shoving Arthur towards health.

He did not let himself think about what might happen if Arthur’s song faded for too long, or if the fever-wracked prince did not get better.

Waking the next morning to Arthur’s grumpy sniping was an incredible relief. Not even the growing dread as they made slow progress back to Camelot, and worry for the prince’s wound, could completely stifle the bubble of happiness Merlin felt at Arthur not being dead - until they crested the hill and saw the smoke billowing up from the mighty turret, and he heard the low, horrible, throbbing discordance of the cup filled with blood echoed through the city.

But apart from that low, constant, terrible thrum, the castle seemed strangely silent, with very little to indicate the presence of an occupying army. Merlin puzzled over this until he realised how oddly quiet the immortal soldiers were, somehow muted in a way that reminded Merlin of Taliesin - as though they were not really there at all. Nonetheless, they were easy enough to avoid as the three of them crept through the empty streets, past the silent bodies of Camelot’s men. Arthur’s leg was much worse now, and Merlin could only hope, desperately, that he would be able to get something from Gaius’s chambers that might help.

They found Elyan alive and unharmed, ringing metal song filling the small house and Merlin had to quell his discomfort at Arthur’s evident concern for Gwen, reminding himself that she was his friend and this was really, really not the time. Getting into the occupied citadel was easier than it might have been, and finding Gaius was a relief. But Merlin would have done anything, anything at all, to prevent that look of broken-hearted despair on Arthur’s face when he saw Morgana wearing his father’s crown.

The cave was a comforting, earthy hum, strategic in its location and fortunately not too overwhelming for Merlin. He did his best to encourage his despondent prince as he tried to work out how to deal with the powerful magic protecting Morgana’s throne - while also making sure he didn’t get lost in the overwhelming music of the woods and the knights. Gwaine was a wonderful friend, but his song was really very distracting.

The water from the Fisher King, when spilled, rang with the peaceful, familiar song of a high mountain lake. It sounded just like Freya had, when she had been alive, and Merlin fought back tears as she told him how to defeat the undead soldiers. The soft music washed over him gently, soothing him like she had, and for the first time in days he felt himself relaxing.

“There is but one weapon that can slay something that is already dead.” Her voice was faint, and he had to concentrate hard to hear it. “Anyone who toys with the cup pays a terrible price. The moment they entered into their pact with Morgause, they became the living dead.”

The strange, muted resonance of the soldiers suddenly made sense. Merlin felt relief surge through him. This would not be easy, but it could be done.

Summoning Kilgharrah made him feel even better. The dragon’s song was familiar and strong, its reassuring beauty making Merlin feel safe again. Retrieving Excalibur was easy enough with Kilgharrah’s help, and the bright fire of the sword’s song was encouraging.

But then the dragon was leaving again and Merlin had to command him to stay, to hear Merlin’s second request. But when Merlin asked for another scale, the response was not what he expected.

The dragon glared balefully at him. “You have brought your current plight upon yourself. You used my scale in a way that was never intended.”

“What else can I do? I can’t get lost in the music, not when Arthur needs me!”

“You and the young Pendragon are two parts of the same harmony. One part is meaningless without the other. When your melodies are truly entwined, you will no longer need any part of me to keep you safe.”

Great, thought Merlin, more cryptic and unhelpful riddles. “But that doesn’t help me now!”

Kilgharrah was already flying away, as he always did after giving utterly useless advice, but lying on the ground where he had been was a small sliver of dragon-claw, small and sharp and humming with bright, saving resonance. Merlin picked it up gratefully and turned it over in his hands, wincing when the sharp point cut painfully into his thumb. He tucked it into his pocket and sucked at the cut, trying not to think too carefully about what the dragon might have meant by ‘truly entwined’.

And then suddenly, amazingly, Gwen and Leon were there, and the enemy had found them. Then somehow Lancelot was there as well, and with him a new man who sounded solid and reliable and somehow like the strong rock foundations on which mighty things were built, and together they were escaping the muted soldiers to retreat to an abandoned castle.

The round table rang with a song louder and fiercer than a mere table should, and Merlin wondered what it had been used for in the past - and how important it would be in the future. He looked around at the companions sitting with him, and now that he felt safe in the dragon’s protection, he let the music wash over him as he had not for far, far too long.

It was a symphony. Powerful and strong, each note both complemented the others and augmented them, the individual songs weaving together into a perfect tapestry of sound. Merlin let the harmony sweep over him. From the familiarity of Arthur’s bright-burning fire-and-spring, Gwen’s warm flowers and Gaius’s green forest-song, to the pure-water that was Lancelot and the dependable earth of Leon, the happy tickling breeze of Gwaine, the ringing clang of Elyan and the firm solidity of Percival.

It was a good balance, a strong one. Merlin was pleased. He smiled at his prince, his future king, delighting in the hope in his eyes, and began to plan his own strategy for the attack on Camelot.

~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ 

Her sister was lying limp and lifeless on the cold floor. Blood trickled down the wall, and the cup of life rocked gently, emptied of the blood that had been the foundation of her reign.

One of the first things the late and unlamented King Cenred had taught Morgana, in the long months she’d spent as a guest in his citadel with him and her sister, learning everything they had to teach her, was that one should always have a back-up plan, a second option, a secret escape known only to oneself. No matter what, you should always leave yourself a way out.

Morgan had not forgotten the dream of Gwen and Arthur, smiling and radiant on Camelot’s throne.

After she took the throne, after the prisoners had been escorted back to the dungeon, after her immortal army was installed in the castle, she went with Morgause to the castle vaults. The cold, cobwebbed, echoing cellars had been just as unpleasant as she remembered. She tried to avoid looking at the crystal lying on its velvet cushion, instead trailing fingers over the dusty shelves and peering at the mysterious boxes.

Morgause smiled as she looked around her. “This is most excellent, sister. We will be able to restore many magical artefacts to their rightful masters. A great victory for the Old Religion, and a blow to Uther and his tyranny.”

Morgana left the management of the vault’s treasures to her sister, instead focusing on tightening her grasp on the fragile threads that were the web of Camelot’s politics. Many things were taken from the castle, distributed to allies or moved to a more secure location. And it turned out that this was just as well.

“It’s over, Morgana.” Merlin’s voice was cold, echoing in the hall that had been filled with her men only minutes before. Gaius moved to stand behind him, face blank and implacable.

“No, you’re wrong! It is just begun.”

Cradling her sister in her arms, Morgana let the fury she felt surge out of her, the tingling, burning magic gushing from the well deep inside her as she screamed.

She had not forgotten Cenred’s advice.

 _“NO!”_

~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ 


	4. Chapter 4

An eagle flew overhead.

Merlin was in the courtyard. It was empty. Something was wrong.

What was it? Merlin knew there was - something. Something bad. Something - what? He didn’t know. But he couldn’t shake that pounding, urgent, bone-deep sense of _not right_ , burning in him like fire, thick and harsh and cloying in his throat like smoke, choking.

He needed to be somewhere. There was a place, he had to be, he had to go, where was it? He ran up the steps, trying desperately to remember as he raced through deserted halls and empty corridors.

Merlin was in the throne room. Knights in full armour and the long red cloak of Camelot stood in a half-circle before the dais. He didn’t recognise them.

Arthur was sitting on the throne. Arthur was rising to his feet, smiling.

“Merlin.”

Arthur was stretching out a hand towards Merlin, happiness lighting his blue eyes.

Arthur was wearing his crown, the circlet of gold bright against his soft blond hair. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, casting shadows.

Merlin stared at him, the unbearable sense of _wrong_ still pulsing in his veins, flooding through him like waves at high tide, merciless, inexorable.

Merlin looked into Arthur’s eyes, and they were black. And the shining circlet was melting, strings of gold cascading down Arthur’s neck, soft bright tendrils flowing over his shoulders like waves of hair, and Arthur was Morgause.

As one, the knights knelt.

The figure on the dais was still holding out a hand, was calling Merlin’s name in Arthur’s voice. Merlin backed away, tripping over his own feet and falling to the cold, hard ground.

“Merlin.”

The pulse of his heartbeat was ringing in his ears. He could hear the voice calling him through the steady pulsing beat, but there was nothing else. There was only silence.

Terror swamped him. He screamed.

“Merlin.”

 _“Merlin.”_

“Merlin!”

Merlin sat up with a start, wild-eyed and shaking and gasping for breath, bedclothes in disarray around him. The song of the castle rang loud and reassuring in his ears.

~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ 

It was night, and it was raining. Outside, the roar of the wind mingled with the raging of the sea, pounding fierce and unforgiving against the rocks below.

Morgana paced in front of the fire. Shadows flickered over the walls as she moved, dancing on the rocks and stretching greedy fingers towards the light. From a nearby chair Morgause watched her, a small smile on her face, saying nothing. Just watching.

The fire cracked in the grate, throwing out not quite enough heat to fight off the icy chill that lingered in the stones of the walls and floor. Morgana paused, drawing her cloak more closely around her and staring deep into the fire, as if hoping it somehow contained the answers to her troubles.

Morgause spoke, voice still hoarse from the injuries she had sustained only a few weeks previously. “Please, sister, be calm. Your endless pacing begins to wear upon my nerves.”

Morgana huffed and sat, still staring into the fire as she replied. “You should rest, sister. You are still not fully healed, for all you try to convince me otherwise. And if you slept my pacing would not disturb you. Why will you not lie down awhile?"

Morgause just looked at her, and smiled again. Morgana rolled her eyes at her sister. “Honestly, you are the worst patient in the world. What am I to do with you? How will you recover your strength if you will not rest?”

A thrum of energy interrupted Morgause’s reply, causing both women to sit up sharply. Morgause was on her feet before Morgana could say anything, reaching for her sword. “That was the ward on the outer gate.”

“How many?”

Morgause’s brow furrowed in concentration, and she took some moments to answer. “Two ... just two. Why would there be only two? That makes no sense,” she paused, and then continued, “And one of them is familiar, though I cannot place him. The other... so young?”

There was a sharp intake of breath from Morgana, and then she was moving to the door. Morgause followed, sword in hand as they descended the winding stair and strode through the cold, empty, echoing passages to the door of the keep.

 _Thud. Thud. Thud._

Three knocks, and then a pause, followed by three more. Before Morgause could stop her, Morgana had lifted the heavy wooden bar and was throwing the door wide. Two cloaked figures, one large and one small, stood dripping on the threshold. Morgana opened her arms and the smaller figure, green-cloaked and sopping wet, threw itself into her embrace.

The tall, dark-cloaked man pushed back his hood, blue eyes meeting Morgause’s wary gaze. “My lady Morgause. It has been too long.”

“Alvarr,” Morgause acknowledged, fingers tightening on the hilt of her sword.

Alvarr grinned wide and boyish, and bowed low, sweeping his saturated cloak behind him and sending water flying everywhere. “You grow even more beautiful every time we meet, my lady.”

Morgause smiled, then laughed, sheathing her blade. “You are as shameless a flirt as you ever were. I am surprised someone has not yet cut that silver tongue out of your head, you incorrigible rogue.”

Morgana turned to look from one to the other, arms still wrapped around Mordred. “You are acquainted with Alvarr?”

Morgause looked over at Morgana, and then back at Alvarr, eyes narrowed. “And how did such a man come to meet my sister?”

He held up his hands. “Peace, ladies, peace! I am known to both of you, but the Lady Morgause has not yet met young Mordred.”

If this was a distraction, it was an effective one. Morgana turned back to Mordred, noticed his soaking clothes, and began to fuss. Soon all four were comfortably ensconced in front of the fire, the wet things dry once more, heating spells reinforced to keep out the chill, and goblets of mulled wine being passed around. Mordred curled next to Morgana, warm furs piled over them. She stroked his hair as he stared unseeing into the dancing flames, eyelids drooping. Morgause sat by them, keeping her eyes on Alvarr, gaze now not actively hostile, but still watchful.

Alvarr watched the women from his seat at the table, and a smirk played about his lips.

Fingers still running through Mordred’s now-dry hair, Morgana looked back at Alvarr, curiosity and faint suspicion in her clear green eyes. “How did you find us?”

Alvarr smiled. “Word of your triumph, my queen, spread far and wide - even to the far-distant wilderness where we have our stronghold. Though we set out immediately to offer our allegiance and support, your unfortunate half-brother acted before we could traverse the distance. On hearing of your ...” he paused, then continued diplomatically, “your difficulty, we camped north of Caerleon for several days. But then Mordred told me he knew where to find you, and he and I set out together. The rest of our force waits for my word to join us. I must compliment your choice of location, this fortress is surely the most defensible I have seen in many years.”

Morgause smiled. “Tintagel keeps what it holds.”

“Is it true that the fortress has never been taken?”

“Never.”

Alvarr waited for Morgause to elaborate further, but she just sat and watched him. A faint half-smile curved her lips, and he had to stop himself from fidgeting under her continued stare. “It is unfortunate that you have no staff to attend you. Ladies such as yourselves are accustomed to a certain level of service. This must be a cold, empty place with only each other for company.”

Now both of them were levelling dark looks at him. Alvarr smirked. “Unfortunate as well that you had to leave Camelot so precipitously. The riches of the citadel would surely have been of great benefit to our cause. The Lady Morgana, I am sure, remembers the worth of a certain piece of crystal that must now be back in the tyrant Uther’s possession.”

Morgana did not react as he had expected - there was no scowl, no flinch at the memory of the escapade that had come close to costing him his life. Instead, her smirk now matched her sister’s. He narrowed his eyes.

“Of course, that your immortal army was defeated by a small band of warriors with no magic must have been surprising. It is understandable that you had no warning or expectation that such a thing might occur. Your half-brother must be quite a fighter, to win so decisively against all odds.”

That got a reaction. Morgana looked away, face gone suddenly fierce and furious, hands clenching in Mordred’s hair and making the boy twitch and pull against her tight grip. When he struggled she relaxed immediately, running a soothing hand over his head in apology. Mordred turned his wide, cold gaze to Alvarr, frowning. “That is not the truth, Alvarr. You should not lie to make Morgana upset.”

Alvarr blinked, a little surprised. “What is not the truth, Mordred?”

The boy continued to watch him with that unnerving stare. “They did not act without magic. Emrys was with them.”

Morgause sat bolt upright, eyes wide and voice hard. “What are you talking about, child?”

Mordred turned to look at her. “Emrys helped the prince. As he always does. It is because of him that Arthur took back the throne. It is always because of him.”

Morgana looked confused. “Who is this Emrys you speak of? And surely you must be mistaken, Mordred. Arthur would not condone the use of magic, no matter what the cause.”

Alvarr’s eyes flicked from sister to sister and then back to the boy. Mordred was speaking again.

“Emrys was always at Camelot. He helped you save me, the first time we met. But the last time I saw him, he wanted me to be killed. He tried to keep me from escaping, so the knights could get me and kill me.” The boy’s voice was distant and cold. “I will never forgive him for that.”

Morgana’s arms came around him in a hug, though it was probably more for her own comfort than for the boy’s. “I would never let anyone have you killed, Mordred. Not ever.”

He smiled up at her. “I know.” Then his face went cold again. “Emrys will pay for what he has done. It was because of him our camp was discovered and the crystal was taken from me.”

Alvarr felt anger burn at the idea of a sorcerer who would help Camelot to hunt and kill his own kind. Many had been killed in the ambush, though he knew Mordred considered their value to be next to nothing when compared to the loss of the crystal. The boy had been fixed on that stone, single-minded in a way that had terrified many of the men. He had been furious at its loss, so soon after they had had won it.

Morgause had gone very pale, eyes still wide and knuckles white where she gripped the arms of her chair. “Are you certain, child, that this person was indeed Emrys? They did not simply take the name for some purpose of their own?”

Mordred shook his head. “He does not use it himself. I always knew that it was his name, but I have never heard anyone else call him by it.”

“How did you know?” Morgause’s voice is raw and harsh.

Mordred met her fierce focus with his own stare. “As I knew you were here. As I know you are more powerful than Alvarr or Morgana, but that one day I may match you. As I know that even now the crystal of Neahtid is here in this castle. So I knew that the one they call Merlin is Emrys.”

At once both women are speaking, mingling voices loud and filled with confusion and incredulity.

“Merlin!”

“How can that be possible?”

“Surely there is some mistake!”

“I knew he was hiding something, but this ...”

“Merlin does not have magic!”

Alvarr looked from one to the other again, wary. “Ladies, please. I do not know this Merlin of whom you speak, nor do I know much of the legend of Emrys beyond the tales told around the fire on a cold winter’s night. Please, explain to me why this news has so upset you.”

Morgause looked at him, eyes strangely unseeing. “Emrys ...” she paused, swallowed and continued, voice hoarse but steady.

“Emrys is also named the One Who Hears. It is said that his coming will usher in a new era for the land of Albion, a time of unmatched glory. That he will be more powerful than any that have come before him, or any that will come after. That he will be unmatched in knowledge and strength, and that he will hear the harmonia mundi.”

Alvarr sucked in a sharp breath and stared at her, eyes wide and disbelieving. “And this Merlin, you think he can hear the harmonia?”

Morgause got to her feet, dropping her furs to the floor as she paced, agitated. “I don’t know. If the boy is right, if Merlin is Emrys... He must be the One Who Hears. It beggars belief, that such a - a simpleton could be granted the music of the universe.”

Morgana leaned forward. “I’m sorry, sister, but does it really exist, the harmonia mundi? I thought it merely a child’s tale!” She smiled. “And surely you cannot believe that Merlin, Merlin of all people could have magic? It is ridiculous! The mere suggestion is absurd! You must be thinking of a different Emrys, surely.”

Mordred looked up at her, catching her eyes with his. “Merlin has magic, Morgana. He has always had magic, but he never told you. He did not want you to know.”

Morgana stared at him, eyes widening and voice going faint. “No, no. It can’t be. There must be some mistake. Not Merlin, not Merlin. He’s such a useless ...” she trailed off, eyes going distant. Her voice hardened. “He sent me to the druids, when my powers first began to show. I was so scared ... all I wanted was someone to tell me it was going to be all right. He told me nothing, sent me far away and almost got us killed - and all those poor druids...”

“Yes,” Mordred agreed, still watching her face.

“He escaped Morgause, when we caught him spying in the forest. She left him to die and he was back at Camelot the next day. We never knew how.”

“Yes.” It was Morgause who spoke this time, eyes on her sister’s anguished face.

“He tried to kill me. He poisoned me and left me to die.”

“Yes.” Alvarr did not know why he was agreeing with her, he knew nothing of this Merlin, but somehow he felt compelled to speak.

Morgana stared into the fire, and there was realisation dawning in her eyes. “He was always there. Always, always with Arthur. In my dreams, he was there.” She turned to look at Morgause. “I never understood before. But Merlin was always there.”

Mordred reached up and touched her cheek. “Emrys has betrayed us, Morgana. He betrayed us and he tried to kill you, he tried to kill me. His king would see all our kind dead.”

She stared at his young face, tears in her eyes. “Yes.”

“We must kill him before he and his king can kill us.”

“Yes.”

“We must kill Merlin, and we must kill Arthur. And then you will be Queen of Camelot, and I will stay with you forever.”

Morgana smiled. “Yes.”

Morgause watched them, and there was something akin to triumph in her eyes. “It will not be easy. If it is as you say, child, and Merlin is Emrys, then defeating him will not be easy.”

Mordred looked at her. “I know. But we will do it. Will you teach me?”

She smiled. “I will.”

Alvarr looked at the three of them, and knew he had the choice to join them now, or to leave. His lips curled in a sly smile. “My people will support us. If this Merlin does hear the harmonia, we must use men he has never met before if we are to get close to him.”

Morgause looked over at him and smiled. “True.” Turning to Morgana, who had opened her mouth to ask again, Morgause began to explain.

“The harmonia mundi is a legend, a story, but it is an ancient one. You may have heard something about it when you were young, it is a common enough tale. Most people no longer understand the significance of what they tell, and many no longer believe it exists. Do you recall when I first began to teach you about the Old Religion?” She looked over, waiting for Morgana’s nod before continuing. “Every piece of the world has a part to play in the balance of life, and all together make up the united force from which we draw our power. You remember?”

“Of course. And the greater the effect of the spell on the balance, the harder it will be to cast.”

Morgause smiled. “Good. Well, it has long been believed by those of the Old Beliefs that if only we could hear it, this united force would have a song. Each piece of the world would have a note, and together they would form the musica universalis, the universal music. Or, to call it by another name, the harmonia mundi, the harmony of the world. And it has long been prophesied that one will be born with a gift that others have only dreamt of possessing - the ability to hear this music.”

Morgana leaned forward, a slight frown on her face. “And you believe Merlin is the one who can hear the music?”

“If he is Emrys, then he is the One Who Hears,” Morgause spat the words as though they were poison on her tongue. “He has been given the gift others have died to try to achieve, and for nothing! Such an ignorant, unworthy child such as him, when there are such as you and I in the world.”

She paused, and then continued in a soft voice, “My first teacher went mad, trying to hear the music. There are tales of sorcerers succeeding, many lifetimes ago, but not one soul in living memory has attempted it and survived with their mind intact. Many have lost their lives to it. That my teacher did not die was a credit to her power, but she spent the rest of her life unable to speak, unable to comprehend when I spoke to her, unable even to feed herself. This magic is the greatest of all challenges, and the most dangerous.”

Morgana put a hand on her sister’s shoulder. Morgause looked up, met her eyes, and smiled. “If Merlin can hear the harmonia mundi, killing him will not be easy.” She looked over to Mordred, then to Alvarr, and her smile broadened. “But I do believe it can be done. In the morning I will go to the library and find what we need. The boy may assist me.”

Mordred smiled, wide and happy, and reflected flames danced in his eyes.

~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ 

Merlin leaned against the cool, worn stone and gazed out over the softly humming city. The last vestiges of sunlight glittered and chimed, gilding the clouds gold and rose and beautiful, and then fading slowly as the sun crept down and the blue of the sky deepened towards black. A chill wind coiled around him, nipping icy and sharp at his exposed ankles, fingers, ears, bringing with it the faint smell of wood-smoke and the whispers of mountains far away.

Merlin looked up to where the darkening sky was still impossibly blue, and thought idly that it was almost the same colour as Arthur’s eyes when he laughed. Then he shook his head. These thoughts were stupid and pointless, as well being impossible and … well, stupid. He absolutely did not have any kind of feelings for his prince. Not only would such a thing be ridiculous and completely out of the question - it would also be a distraction, one he absolutely could not afford right now, not with Camelot in such a state of disarray.

He ignored the part of his mind that stretched out instinctively at the thought of Arthur, reaching for the so-familiar song. Tried not to notice that he had already known exactly where Arthur was, even before listening for him, that he had known without a flicker of doubt that the prince was in the council hall - probably debating with his father’s advisers. This was not an unusual or unexpected place for Arthur to be, but Merlin shouldn’t _know_ it the way he did - automatically and without any hesitation, as surely as he knew where he was himself.

Was that what it meant, then, to be two notes in the same harmony, two sides of the same coin? Was this what the dragon had intended, for Merlin to have Arthur under his skin all the time, like an itch he couldn’t scratch, bright song entwining itself through his thoughts and his dreams as though the prince had never been anywhere else, and never would be again? With the two of them so entwined that no earthly power could ever separate one from the other, separate Arthur from Merlin?

If so, destiny could go and jump off a cliff. Merlin had no idea how he was supposed to live like this, constantly on edge and frustrated, desperately needing to be near Arthur but never being allowed to be close enough. Because Arthur would never know how Merlin felt, and would never, ever feel the same. Merlin gave a gusty sigh. Stupid, stupid destiny.

He stared into the sky, watching as the high, cold ringing of the stars began to chime, pinpricks of light flickering in the deep blue, growing louder as the light faded, no longer overshadowed by the louder, brighter sun. The air was cooling steadily with the loss of the sun’s heat, though the well-worn stones still hummed with warmth under Merlin’s fingers. Soon it would be dark.

There was a soft sound from behind him. Merlin did not turn around.

“Gwaine,” he greeted softly, and the other man chuckled, stepping over to lean against the wall next to Merlin.

“How on earth did you know it was me?”

Merlin shrugged, still staring up into the darkness. He was not about to explain that there was no-one in the world who sounded quite like Gwaine, that odd, strangely complex harmony of birdsong and the fickle west wind. He felt the weight of Gwaine’s gaze as the knight watched him watch the stars, and turned to look over. Gwaine’s face was half-lit by the dying sun, shadows clinging to his cheek, nose, the softness of his hair, silhouetting the curve of his smile. The fading light glittered and chimed in his eyes.

“Why are you here, Gwaine?” The question slipped out before Merlin could stop it, harsher than he meant it to be, but he didn’t try to soften the hard edge to the accusation. Merlin had come here to hide, to be alone with his thoughts and with the music, and he found himself unreasonably angry at being disturbed.

“I’m here for you, Merlin,” Gwaine smiled that sly, cheeky smile that Merlin knew so well, and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling slightly in return. “I’m always here for you. You know that.”

He was close now, closer than Merlin had thought. Reaching out one sword-callused hand, Gwaine ran his fingers lightly over Merlin’s cheek. Merlin stared at him wide-eyed, any lingering anger and frustration lost beneath a sudden flood of confusion, and did not flinch away. Gwaine continued to trace the line of Merlin’s cheekbone, eyes dark with more than the slowly growing shadows, and for a moment Merlin let himself imagine what it might be like to lean in and press his mouth to the soft, shadowy curve of Gwaine’s lips. It would be a little scratchy, he thought, but Gwaine would be gentle, and welcoming, and he would taste sweet like the wine that he loved and warm like the shine in his eyes when he didn’t think anyone was looking.

Merlin’s eyes fluttered closed, and he leaned into the touch, imagined sinking into the kiss, Gwaine’s song swelling loud and beautiful around them, enveloping Merlin in the complex, clever melody until it was all he could hear, until all he knew was just the touch of Gwaine’s skin and the music of his song.

Music swelled around him, loud and beautiful and distracting, as though it was responding to his thoughts. A bolt of fear shot through him and he flinched back, reaching up to grip the dragon-claw tied securely around his neck. It would be too easy to get lost in Gwaine, in the hidden complexities of the man and the music, and he didn’t know if he would be able to find his way back. It would be too easy to get lost, and never come back. And then there was Arthur.

At the thought of him, Merlin heard the prince’s bright song fill his ears, loud, as though Arthur was standing right behind him, drowning out Gwaine’s own music and everything else as well.

Merlin looked at Gwaine and sighed. He couldn’t. It would never be possible, no matter how much he wished it might. His eyes traced the shape of Gwaine’s lips, the line of his nose, the glimmer of light still twinkling in his hair, and was surprised to discover just how much he did wish. He wished a lot more than he thought he would, and that just made it harder to say no.

Merlin blinked at the sudden tears that pricked his eyes and stepped back, turning to stare up at the sky as the last light from the dying sun traced bright, fading fingers along the edges of the darkening clouds.

Gwaine let his hand drop.

Merlin looked back at him, wondering if the depth of his sadness was visible in his eyes. He could see the disappointment in Gwaine’s shadowed face, the sorrow behind the mask of a smile that slid quickly into place. Gwaine opened his mouth to make some joking comment, to lift the mood back to playful and let them both hide behind the banter they usually shared. But before he could speak, Merlin reached out and touched the hand that rested on the softly-resonating stone.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, and the two words contained a world of regret.

Gwaine let the smile drop, and nodded. “I understand.”

Merlin shook his head. “No. No, you don’t. And you can’t, because I can’t tell you, and I’m sorry. I wish I could, I really do, I wish that it could be different. But it can’t. _I_ can’t.” He brought one hand up to touch his own face, where Gwaine’s hand had been, and swallowed hard again, looking back down at the reliable, cold, sturdily-humming stone.

He had to fight back the words that wanted to spill out of him, fight the urge to confess it all, to explain everything and make Gwaine _understand_. And Merlin knew Gwaine would understand. He knew that Gwaine would keep Merlin’s secret and would help him, would be a friend that Merlin could lean on, someone with whom he could share the bright glory of the music, someone to help Merlin carry the burden of fear and help keep him safe.

He could taste the words on his tongue, the _“I have magic”_ resting heavy and bitter and sweet where it was caught and trapped behind his teeth.

But he remembered look on Arthur’s face when he first found out about Morgana’s betrayal, and he knew, he _knew_ , how deeply it would hurt Arthur if Merlin told Gwaine before he told his prince. And after everything, Arthur always came first.

All this flashed through Merlin’s mind as he gripped Gwaine’s hand, music chiming loud in his ears.

Gwaine just watched him, head tilted to one side. “I am still your friend, Merlin. That will never change. I will keep your secrets if you choose to share them with me, and I’ll trust you with mine. And I will accept your silence, and not press you. But you should know that you can trust me, if you wanted to.”

Merlin nodded, letting his hand fall. Gwaine smiled at him, eyes dark with regret, understanding and something that might have been forgiveness. Then he turned and walked away, not looking back, leaving Merlin alone in the dark, staring up at the stars.

~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ 

Merlin expected the next day to be awkward. He was tense all morning, waiting for the stilted words and shallow, meaningless smiles that did not reach sad, uncomfortable eyes. But surprisingly, there was only one half-mocking, half-sad smile and then Gwaine was teasing like he always did, and they were joking and laughing together as Merlin helped Gwaine to arm for sparring practice. He was just doing up the second vambrace, chuckling at some comment of Gwaine’s when he noticed Arthur scowling darkly at them from across the practice field.

“Merlin!” Arthur called, voice tight. “Stop fooling around and attend me. This pauldron is too loose. I need you to tighten the buckles.”

Merlin rolled his eyes at Gwaine, who shoved his shoulder, grinning. “Go on Merlin, don’t keep the princess waiting. We all know he can’t do without you even for five minutes.”

Merlin scowled at that, and finished doing up the last fastening before he jogged over to Arthur. “Coming, sire, coming,” he said, running an experienced eye over Arthur’s armour and trying to ignore the pouting prince wearing it. “You said it was the pauldron that was loose? It looks all right to me.”

Arthur just glared at him. “What would you know anyway? Now hand me my helmet. No, not that one, you idiot! The other one.”

Merlin blinked at him, confused, but passed over the helmet. Arthur shoved past him, picking up his sword as he went. “Gwaine!”

“What?” Gwaine yelled back.

“We’re sparring. Now.”

Gwaine blinked in confusion. “I thought we were doing drills first this morning?”

“I said now!” Arthur’s face was dark, and Gwaine picked up his sword and moved to the middle of the field.

Merlin winced as Arthur moved to attack, sword ringing with strength as it cut the air, chiming bright in the morning sunshine. Gwaine was good, able to hold his own for the most part, but Arthur was the best - and it showed. Each movement was clean, concise, purposeful, and his gaze was hard behind the mask of his helmet. Every step, every swing, was filled with dangerous intent. Gwaine did his best, but Merlin knew no-one could stand against Arthur when he was in this mood. The knights were silent as they watched, but Merlin could see the concern in the lines of Leon’s face and the curve of Elyan’s mouth, and he glared at the pair circling on the field. What on earth had gotten into Arthur this morning? There was a harsh, dissonant undercurrent to the fight now, and Merlin knew Arthur had lost his temper.

It didn’t last long. Arthur rained down blow after loud, ringing blow, battering away at Gwaine like he was a practice dummy. Gwaine did manage to land a few good hits of his own, but Merlin knew he would be covered with bruises by the next morning. Both of them were panting with exertion, faces shiny with sweat beneath the gleaming helmets, when Arthur darted in fast and low, and Gwaine fell with a cry of surprised pain, landing hard on the still-damp grass. Arthur stood still for a moment, sword at Gwaine’s throat, before stepping back and pulling off his helmet. He threw it to the ground and moved over to the water-barrel, splashing his face with cool, chiming water as the other knights moved to Gwaine. Elyan was there first, reaching out an arm to haul his fellow knight to his feet. Gwaine grinned up at him and tried to stand, but fell again with a muffled cry of pain, clutching at his leg.

Arthur didn’t turn around.

Merlin shot him a hard glare as he knelt down beside Gwaine, sucking in a breath when he saw the dark stain, heard the soft murmur of blood.

“Are you alright?” he asked, pulling off his neckerchief and pressing it to the freely-bleeding gash that ran down Gwaine’s thigh from his hip almost to his knee. Gwaine shot him a tight smile. “I’m fine. Great, in fact, never better. Thought we might go dancing this evening, are you interested? I hear the local tavern has some wonderful music.”

Merlin rolled his eyes and tied the scarf as best he could to keep pressure on the cut, before waving to the hovering Elyan. Between them, they managed to help Gwaine to his feet. The bandage was rudimentary, but it would do until they got him to Gaius. Gwaine was listing slightly, unsteady on his feet, and Merlin hastily grabbed one side. Elyan took the other, and together they half-carried Gwaine towards the castle.

Merlin did not look back at Arthur.

~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ 

“What on earth were you thinking?” Merlin shouted the moment the door closed. He had been waiting for Arthur for hours now, pacing back and forth in the prince’s chambers where he had retreated after Gaius had banished him, ordering him to let Gwaine sleep.

Arthur shot him a cold look, moving to start pulling off his sweaty clothing. He didn’t reply.

“Gaius had to give him eight stitches. Eight! And even if the cut isn’t deep, Gwaine still has to be careful of the leg for the next fortnight. Arthur...” Merlin trailed off, watching the prince pull the damp shirt over his head. He swallowed, blinked, and then glared. Anger and frustration swelled in his throat, but he forced the words out, tone laced with bitterness.

“You can’t just ignore me! What the hell did you think you were doing, going for Gwaine like that? If the wound had been any deeper Gaius said there could have been serious damage! There was no need for you to go for him like that, not even for training! Gwaine has been nothing but loyal to you, and this is how you repay his service? I thought you were a better man than that.” Merlin winced as the sharp words left his mouth, but didn’t try to take them back. He meant them, and the fact that he did was a cold, aching weight in his chest.

Arthur flinched at that, and then looked over, eyes glittering with something Merlin couldn’t decipher. His face was twisted with anger, and his voice was low and harsh. “Do you think I don’t know that, Merlin? Do you think I don’t know it went too far, that I lost my temper and did something so unbelievably foolish that I can hardly believe I did it? Do you think I’m not kicking myself harder than you ever could? A good man was wounded today for no good reason, and it was entirely my fault.” He turned away, but not before Merlin saw the grief in his eyes. Anger slipped away, leaving regret and sorrow in its place.

Merlin reached out and gripped Arthur’s warm shoulder. Arthur jerked at the touch, but didn’t pull away. Merlin could feel muscles shifting under his hand, the slight tremor that went through Arthur when he squeezed gently. They stood like that for a few moments, and Merlin’s voice was soft when he next spoke “Is it your father? Is there something wrong?”

Arthur shot him a confused look, then shook his head. “What? No. What are you talking about, Merlin?”

Merlin just looked at him. “There’s obviously something wrong, or you wouldn’t have acted like that this morning. What is it? Tell me, and we can fix it.” He smiled. “You and me, we can fix just about anything.”

Arthur smiled slightly at that, but then pulled away. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

Worry tinged Merlin’s voice as he frowned. “I don’t believe you. Come on, you know you can tell me anything. What is it? Is it Gwen?”

But Arthur just shook him off. “I said nothing is wrong! Now go and fetch me a bath.”

Merlin pressed his lips together, but didn’t try to push any further. Arthur in this mood would tell him nothing. He went to order the bath, mind awhirl with worry. Even if Arthur wouldn’t tell him, he would find out what was wrong, and then he would fix it, and then the look of pain would be gone from Arthur’s eyes. Merlin set his jaw. Whatever was making Arthur this upset would regret it. Merlin would make sure of that.

~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ 

“Merlin!” Gwen looked surprised to see him, but pulled the door open and ushered him in, sitting back down at her small table and smiling up at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you, of course!” Merlin grinned at her. “We’ve both been so busy lately, I feel as though I’ve hardly seen you at all.”

She smiled ruefully. “That’s certainly true. But I expected you to be with Gwaine tonight - Elyan told me he was injured on the practice fields?”

Merlin’s face darkened. “Yeah, yeah he was. I was with him earlier, he’s fine, just needs to rest. Is your brother here now?”

Gwen shook her head. “No, I think he said something about the tavern, for some reason. Strange - he usually never drinks when there’s patrol in the morning.” She looked down at the mound of blue fabric on the table, tracing her fingers along a seam before looking up again. “Not that it isn’t lovely to see you, Merlin, but - why aren’t you with Gwaine? I mean, given that you two are...” She trailed off and looked down again, blushing.

Merlin blinked. “We two are what?” Then his eyes widened and he flushed. “Oh.. OH! You think that we...” He couldn’t bring himself to say it either, and he just knew he was as bright red as a knight’s cloak. “What on earth gave you that idea?”

Gwen blushed harder. “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have assumed! But it was all over the castle this morning - you know how everyone gossips. Apparently someone saw you at the top of the north tower together, or something? And well - the way the two of you act, it didn’t seem surprising, really. I’m sorry!”

Merlin shook his head, still a bit stunned by the idea that the entire castle thought he was sleeping with Gwaine. “It’s fine, really. Don’t worry about it.” Well, at least now he knew why the cook had winked and made wicked, pointed comments when he went to collect Arthur’s breakfast. And why the laundresses had giggled so hard that morning. And the stableboys had made some odd remarks too, actually, now that he thought about it, and honestly the way that Camelot seemed to run on gossip really was absurd.

Merlin sat down heavily, and tried to stop himself from wondering if Arthur had heard. Gwen picked up the blue cloth and started stitching again, kindly letting him have a few moments to collect his thoughts. He ran a hand over his face and let the soft, comforting hum of Gwen’s house sooth him, let the happy, peaceful chime of her song reassure him.

They sat peaceably together for a time, and then Merlin frowned curiously. “What are you sewing?”

Gwen blushed again, looking down, and a small smile slipped over her face as she replied. “It’s for Lancelot. He doesn’t have much in the way of formal clothing, and the palace tailor has so much to do... I offered to make him a few things.”

Merlin looked at the expensive blue cloth, the careful, intricate stitching, and the soft smile on Gwen’s face. “Oh.”

She looked back at him, and Merlin remembered the first time Gwen had met Lancelot. He remembered the beautiful, perfect harmony that their two songs had formed, and he couldn’t find it in himself to be surprised. “But... what about Arthur?” he asked softly, trying to keep accusation from seeping into his voice.

Gwen put down her sewing. “I have barely spoken three words to Arthur since we returned. He is so busy all the time, and I don’t think he even remembers I exist for a good part of the day. And Lancelot... he has time. I don’t know. Arthur is lovely when he acknowledges me, but...”

“He has to run the kingdom! Of course he’s busy!” Merlin found himself saying, and it was true. Arthur had almost no time for anyone these days, but nonetheless - he would have expected the prince to make time for Gwen. Instead, Arthur spent as much of his free time as possible on the practice fields - and his rare quiet evenings with Merlin, the two of them dining together in Arthur’s chambers, drinking wine and bickering comfortably.

Merlin closed his eyes and leaned back, letting out a sigh. Arthur probably hadn’t been upset over Gwen, then. And if he had been, why would he have gone after Gwaine? It would have made sense if it had been Lancelot on the receiving end of Arthur’s anger, but it hadn’t been. So if it wasn’t Gwen, then what was bothering Arthur? He rubbed his hand over his face, and then smiled at Gwen. “Right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t interfere, anyway. It’s none of my business.”

Gwen smiled at him. “It’s alright. Anyway, I want to know how you are doing. You always look so tired these days, Merlin.”

She was full of kind concern, but Merlin barely felt any guilt at all as he lied and said he was perfectly fine.

~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ 

The messenger arrived the next day.

Merlin was on the practice fields when he came running up from the city, an unfamiliar, nondescript young man with a sneer on his face. “Message for Prince Arthur?” he asked one of the guards.

“He’s over there.” The guard pointed to where Arthur was drilling the knights. “But you’d best wait until he’s done, he doesn’t like training to be interrupted.”

“I’ve got a very important message. He’ll hear me.”

Merlin came over at that point. “I’m the prince’s manservant. Give me the message, and I’ll be the judge of whether it’s worth interrupting the drill. What’s your name?”

The man turned to look at him, still sneering. “That doesn’t matter. Anyway, it’s not my message. A woman paid me to bring it to the prince, said it was really important he heard it as soon as possible.”

Merlin frowned. “A woman?”

“Yeah. I was going through this village, and a woman said she’d pay me gold to deliver the message to Camelot. She couldn’t travel herself for some reason, I think she was injured. She said that if I told the prince that this village needed Camelot’s aid, I’d get rewarded. Gave me a few coins, and said the prince would give me more.”

Cold fear settled into Merlin’s belly, and he swallowed against the sudden dryness in his throat. “This village. What was it called?”

“Ealdor.”

Merlin swayed on his feet, icy fear flooding through him, and he was distantly aware that he was struggling for breath. The guard reached out and touched his arm. “Are you alright, Merlin?”

Merlin tried to answer, but couldn’t find the words. He shook his head, tried to take a step, staggered. The guard grabbed him and stopped him from falling, then waved a hand at the still-drilling knights.

Arthur was there just seconds later. “Merlin? What is it?”

Merlin swallowed again, and his voice was a dry croak as he answered, “Ealdor. My ... my mother.”

Arthur sucked in a breath, and turned to the messenger. “Tell me. Now.”

~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ 

Two hours later, Merlin rode out of Camelot.

“Take Leon,” Arthur had said. “I wish I could send Lancelot and Percival as well, but I must keep the new knights close or people will talk. I can give you a squad of men, and Leon will command them. Take whatever supplies you think necessary.”

Merlin had nodded, tried to thank him, but Arthur had just brushed his thanks aside. “Cenred’s kingdom is leaderless now, and while the council tells me I do not have the men to hold all his lands, we can certainly bring Ealdor under Camelot’s protection.” He paused, cleared his throat, and then added. “Give my regards to Hunith. I ... I would go with you, if I could.”

Merlin had smiled weakly. “I know.”

Gaius fretted and packed bags of herbs, Gwen had hugged him tight, Gwaine had raged and sworn over the injury that absolutely prohibited him from riding. Arthur just looked at him, tried to smile, and then punched his shoulder. “See you when you get back.”

Merlin nodded, tried to smile back. “See you then.”

~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ 

The horse was a low, comforting grumble of sound as they rode swiftly through the familiar forest. Merlin’s mind whirled with all kinds of horrible possibilities, worry growing steadily as they grew closer to Ealdor. The message had been so vague, and with the fall of Cenred and the death of his entire army, unscrupulous men would be everywhere, preying on the weak and the defenceless. Merlin suppressed a shudder, trying not to think of slave-traders, bandits, thieves and killers and a defenceless village, and spurred his horse faster.

They made good progress. The first night, Merlin tried to help the men set up the camp, but he was so distracted that he was more hindrance than help. Leon did not comment on his trembling hands, instead sending him out to collect more firewood. As Merlin stepped past him, Leon reached out and caught hold of his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “We will protect them, Merlin. Don’t worry.”

Merlin nodded, tried to smile, but not even the reassuring, steadying earth-song of Leon could make him feel much better. As he moved through the trees, searching for dry logs, his thoughts continued to spin out of his control, flitting from fear to panic to hope to worry to fear again in an endless loop. The song of the forest was loud in his ears, but he tried not to listen.

He missed Arthur.

The next evening, he didn’t even bother trying to help, just set his pack down next to the fire and went to find what wood he could. The air was cold, and a mist was rising as the sun disappeared below the horizon, shrouding the trees in white and muffling the chiming forest-song. He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, suddenly tired. It had been such a long day, all he wanted to do was sleep. But something about the mist seemed - strange, just slightly off, just a little bit not quite right. Merlin straightened and looked around, frowning, and then yawned widely. There was something wrong about the mist-song, but he couldn’t tell what.

A wave of exhaustion flooded him, and he yawned again. His eyelids felt suddenly heavy. That was strange, he wasn’t that tired, or he shouldn’t be. But his head was nodding, and without any conscious thought his legs were folding beneath him and he was falling to the soft, comfortable ground. Not even the shock of fear at the suddenness of the fall could penetrate the bone-deep exhaustion. Merlin closed his eyes, just for a moment, and darkness swamped him.

~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ 


	5. Chapter 5

Merlin drifted, lost. Images flitted past him, dancing like leaves in an autumn wind, whirling in a confusing symphony of colour; brown, yellow, orange, and bright Camelot red. Music echoed and reverberated in a confusion of senseless noise.

Somewhere, distantly, he could feel his body moving, shifting, bouncing, falling. He tried to open his eyes but his eyelids refused to obey, and just that slightest effort was too much, sending him tumbling back into the maelstrom of sound and colour.

Images flitted past him, and sometimes they made sense.

Merlin saw a rider galloping, pushing his horse faster, faster, red cloak billowing out behind him. He saw Arthur drilling men, movements sharp, clear and precise, and Leon kneeling on the field and breathlessly gasping his message.

There was shock, and fear, and then these were covered by a blank mask. Merlin saw Arthur’s sharp eyes, heard his sharp words calling for his horse, for his knights, for his weapons. He saw the fixed, stubborn glint in Gwaine’s eyes, and the worry in Lancelot’s face.

He saw the knights ride out, heard the ringing harmony of Gwaine and Lancelot as they galloped after their prince. Leon, Percival, Elyan and Gaius stood on the courtyard steps and watched them go, faces lined with worry.

There was pain, somewhere. His head? Merlin tried to reach up and touch his face, but found that somehow, he couldn’t move his arms. Breath coming a little faster, he tried to open his eyes - but there was only darkness. The music around him was unfamiliar, strange. He couldn’t hear Arthur, or any of the knights. He couldn’t hear the dragon claw. Everything around him was foreign. _Where was he?_

Dizzying, burning terror swept through him like fire, overwhelming all conscious thought, and Merlin thrashed wildly. He opened his mouth and tried to scream, but no sound came out. Hands grabbed him, gripping his arm, his shoulder, tangling in his hair, they were all over him. He reached for the music, tried to twist them away from him, tried to freeze them, his own heartbeat roaring in his ears as he tried anything to make them stop.

Somewhere, he heard a cry of pain, and then voices shouting. The hands were gone. He gasped for air, gulping desperately for breath, but he had only a few seconds reprieve before they were on him again. He pushed again as hard as he could, gripping the music tight and screaming silently for it to save him.

But sleep-sodden, restrained, blind and in pain, he could not fight so many. The hands were myriad now, on his body, arms, legs, on his face, holding his nose until he opened his mouth for air and then pouring a thick, sticky liquid down his throat. Merlin choked, spluttered, and then swallowed because it was that or drown in the foul-tasting liquid.

Short seconds later Merlin went limp, muscles refusing to respond to his mind’s urgent, screaming demands. Darkness surrounded him, and the music was fading, and he was falling again into the familiar sea of whirling colour.

~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ 

Arthur was galloping through a dark forest, song fierce and hard, harmonizing with the bright stars that peeped through the leaves overhead. The breath of his horse steamed in the cold air.

Arthur was in Ealdor, dismounting and embracing Hunith. Merlin could see tears streaking his mother’s face, could hear her familiar song, could see the pain in Arthur’s eyes. He clutched at the image, tried to hold on to it, but it slipped through his desperate fingers like grains of sand.

Arthur was alone, sitting under a tree in the forest, holding his head in his hands. He looked exhausted, like he hadn’t slept in days, and his face was dark with grief and anguish. Merlin tried to reach out, to sooth away Arthur’s sorrow, to make whatever had upset him go away, but even as he stretched out a hand the image was fading, and then it was gone.

There was only darkness.

~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ 

The floor beneath his back was cold and hard, humming the low, deep song of old stone. Merlin shifted, and then winced as pain sang through him like fire. Around him, there was a low, harsh jangling of magical harmony that made his ears hurt and made it hard to hear clearly. He focused, trying to hear more. There was the unfamiliar song of an old fortress, but it seemed a long way off - distant, somehow muffled by the magic. Not quite as far away he could hear flickering torchlight, but it too was faint, hard to distinguish against the jangling background.

Keeping his eyes shut, Merlin took a slow, deep breath. His mouth felt sticky and foul-tasting, and his whole body ached with a bone-deep pain that he somehow wasn’t surprised by, even though he couldn’t remember why he might hurt. Memories danced away from him, flitting just out of reach, teasing, slipping away each time he thought he might have a grip on them, each time he thought he might have some idea of where he was or how he had come to be there.

He concentrated on breathing. In, out. In, and out. Waiting. For what, he didn’t know. Time seemed endless, but maybe that was wrong. Maybe there was no such thing as time. Maybe he had always been there, and always would be, breathing on the cold stone floor.

No, that wasn’t right. Merlin tried to rein in his wandering thoughts, but they slipped from his grasp, dancing away as he chased after them, and he followed them back into darkness.

Some unknowable time later reality made itself known again, the noise of the world drowning out the soft oblivion of unconsciousness. Merlin stirred restlessly, uncomfortable on the hard stone. Memories trickled back slowly. There were images in his mind now, pictures that he couldn’t place but knew were somehow important. Merlin could remember Arthur on a horse, but why did he look so fierce, so cold? He remembered his mother in tears, but he didn’t know why she was crying. He could see Ealdor, teeming with men bearing the arms of Camelot, but surely there had never been knights in his village?

Knights. Ealdor. The message.

Adrenaline shot through him, a bolt of ice-cold panic as he remembered Leon, the guards, and a sly creeping mist twining through the trees. But what had come after that? But all he could recall was hazy shadows, music, and fear.

Opening his eyes at last, Merlin pushed himself up and looked around. The flickering brightness of torchlight made him blink. Torches were dotted around the large, empty room, casting shadows on the bare stone walls. Graven into the floor all around him was a circle of strange symbols that rang with that harsh, jangling magical harmony. Merlin stared at them, wondering what they meant and why they were encircling him with strange, unnerving power.

But then he saw something else, and all other thoughts were washed away in the blinding rush of panic. He scrambled to get to his feet, forcing his recalcitrant limbs into obedience, muscles screaming with pain as he forced himself to stand.

Morgause lounged comfortably in an elaborate wooden chair, smirking as Merlin staggered up. “Awake at last, I see. Excellent. I was beginning to think there had been some miscalculation in the spell.”

Merlin’s mind raced, thoughts clamouring as he tried to clear the lingering fog from his thoughts, doing his best not to look like he was mere moments from collapsing. Morgause’s song was strangely distant, muffled by the harshness, easy to miss - and he had missed it. He wondered why it was so quiet, so far-away, but he knew better than to ask.

“What’s going on? Why am I here?” he demanded instead, not really expecting an answer. “What have you done to Leon and the others?”

Morgause smirked at him. “Such concern! And for men who would love to kill you. It would be touching, really, if it were not so utterly foolish.”

Merlin went very, very still. After a moment he asked cautiously, “Kill me? What are you talking about?”

Morgause laughed. “You know precisely what I’m talking about, Merlin. I admit, I feel a little foolish for not guessing earlier. But really, who would have expected it of the prince’s man? Though there is a certain kind of irony to it, I suppose. Morgana was devastated,” she added, frowning. “And I must say, your hypocrisy is stunning, it really is. Fortunately for Morgana, she has people who care about her now.”

At this her eyes flicked to behind Merlin. He reached out to try and hear what she was looking at, careful not to not take his eyes off her. There was familiar music there. It was muffled, with the same strange sense of distance as Morgause, as everything outside that ring of symbols, but Merlin knew that song. He felt his blood turn to ice as he turned to stare at the small hooded figure who stood in the doorway. “You.”

Mordred smiled, wide and cold. “Greetings, Emrys.”

For a moment, Merlin stopped breathing. Mordred had told Morgause. She knew. Morgana knew. He had to get out of there as fast as possible, had to get away, get back to Arthur and warn him that -

But what was there to warn Arthur about? Morgause was already a known danger, as was Morgana. Their new knowledge made them more dangerous still, but not in any way that Merlin could put into words - not without revealing his own secret.

He took a deep, shuddering breath as Mordred moved to stand next to Morgause, focusing on the tight clench of his fists and the small, sharp pain of his nails cutting into his palms. On the solid, reliable song of the stone beneath his feet, reassuringly close.

Morgause smirked at him. “Your prince doesn’t know, does he? What do you think he would do, Merlin, if he found out? Would it be the block, or the pyre? Or would he kill you himself, with the sword you sharpened for him?”

Merlin tried to ignore her, hating the way the words cut deep, and reached for the music. If they already knew, then he had nothing left to lose in using magic to free himself.

“You can try to use your power, if you like. It won’t work,” Morgause told him idly, waving a hand at the symbols engraved on the stone floor. “The runic circle allows no magic to leave it for as long as it is kept whole. It is a variation on an ancient working by the High Priestesses of the Old Religion. Difficult to sustain for long periods of time, but these variations to the grounding runes serve to make it absolutely impenetrable - not that I expect you to understand such intricacies. Your lack of education really is deplorable, we will have to do something about that once you agree to serve us.”

Merlin’s eyes widened. “What? I would never serve you, not ever!”

Mordred’s laughter was high and cold, and Merlin had to suppress a shiver. He reached for his magic, drawing it in around him, gathering as much as he could.

Morgause drew her lips back in a snarl. “Do you have any idea who you are? What you are supposed to do for us? No, of course you don’t, ignorant as you are.” She waved a hand towards him. “Emrys is destined to bring about a new age, a golden age. But it is evident that the magic has chosen unwisely, and the vessel is flawed. You will vow your allegiance to Morgana and myself, and we will guide and shape this new future. It will be for the best, I’m sure you will agree in time.”

Merlin shook his head, pulling his magic closer. “I will never vow allegiance to you!”

She narrowed her eyes. “Your refusal is not unexpected. Mordred, tell Morgana our guest is awake.”

Mordred closed his eyes for a moment, and Merlin knew he was speaking directly to Morgana’s mind. He drew in a deep breath and threw his gathered power at the barrier, putting as much strength behind it as he could. But it was like striking a surface of pure, polished glass, and the magic just washed over it and fell away. Merlin frowned and reached out to try and hear the magic of it, to use its song, but the strange, harsh song muffled him, confusing his mind and making it difficult to focus. Before he could get a grasp on it, Morgana had appeared in the doorway. She was holding a small, dark box. It looked incongruously like a jewellery box - like something she might have owned as the king’s ward, once upon a time.

Morgause stood, and the women exchanged a smile as Morgana walked slowly forward to stand next to her sister, careful to keep her distance from the runic boundary. At Morgause’s nod, Morgana opened the box.

Merlin heard it first. Whatever was inside that box rang with an eerie, discordant, repulsive harmony - clearly magical. As the lid opened further, he could see two shining silver bracelets, nestled in soft velvet and engraved with runes and Merlin wanted, suddenly and desperately, to keep as much distance between them and himself as possible.

Morgana looked up, and her smile chilled him to the bone. “These are blood-linked, bound to the Pendragon line. The traitor Gaius created them for Uther.” She spat the name with a vehemence that should not have surprised Merlin. “He used them to ensure the deaths of the most powerful sorcerers in the land. They can only be used by those to whom they are bound.” She smirked. “Isn’t it fortunate that I am a Pendragon by blood?”

Merlin stepped back, and then again, until he was pressed against the invisible wall of power keeping him confined, fighting the fear that surged in his chest.

“Once they are spelled to you they cannot be removed without the words of command - spoken by a Pendragon,” said Morgana. “And if you believe that Arthur will remove them, you are even more a fool. It may be true that he could, if he knew the incantation - but he does not. Even if he did, to do so he would have to acknowledge that you are a sorcerer and he would have to choose to give you back your magic. Given his views on sorcery, I think that is rather unlikely, don’t you?”

Holding one hand a few inches above the gleaming, chiming metal, she stretched her fingers wide as she began to chant. Merlin strained to catch the words.

“ _Ásæle Emrys æt ealdhláfordcynn Pendragon, ásæle drýcræft, eafoð,ond sáwol._ ” Her eyes glowed bright gold, and Merlin could hear the sinuous thrum of the magic taking shape, could hear the music reaching out for him.

His mind railed against the spell, fighting with every ounce of power at his command to stop it from wrapping its music around him. He tore at the notes, ripped at the sinuous harmonies, broke the song into little pieces to keep it away. But the magic was rooted beyond the circle and he couldn’t reach the source. Every part he destroyed would fall silent and then reform, louder and stronger. Morgana continued to chant, and Merlin couldn’t reach beyond the caging spell to stop her. The magic was everywhere now, surrounding him, sliding around him and caressing his skin with icy-sharp notes. For every part he silenced there were a dozen more, and Merlin wasn’t fast enough, he couldn’t keep it from entwining itself around his mind and locking tight.

The music thrummed with triumph. The silver bracelets glowed and vanished from the box, and then reappeared to click shut around his wrists. The instant the second clasp was closed, everything stopped.

Merlin could hear his heartbeat, echoing loud in his ears. He could hear the harsh panting of his own breath.

He could hear nothing else. The music was gone.

Silence.

Merlin opened his mouth and screamed. The sound reverberated against the cold, silent stone, echoing in his ears, the only thing he could hear because there was no music. He couldn’t hear the waterfall that was Morgause, or the deep pool of water that was Mordred. The torches burned silently on the walls, the flickering flames not ringing with bright sound. All sense of the music, of _magic_ , was horribly, unbearably, gone.

Merlin’s mind was reeling, careening out of control, every fibre of his being shrieking in utter despair. The music was gone. He was dead. But was he dead? He could still hear his own voice, screaming. It was loud. Too loud. But it was sound. As long as there was sound, any kind of sound, surely he was still alive?

Morgause stood watching, and her laughter was loud and hollow to his ears.

There was pain, also. His throat was raw with screaming, and his wrists were burning with the agony of bright fire dancing on his skin.

Fire. Beautiful, bright song. _Arthur._

Merlin felt a burning, soul-deep ache at the thought of fire-bright, sweet-ringing Arthur. Silent.

 _No._

He reached for his magic, felt it trapped in his body and raging against the confinement, and forced it out in a torrential rush. He sent it flooding against the silent power of the bracelets, against the shackles that had torn out his heart and held it, beating and bloody, just out of reach; wave after wave of power battering against the flimsy silver that kept him from the music. Magic cascaded through him, furious and unbearably silent, and Merlin gasped, falling to his knees under the force of it.

The magic crashed against the silent power of the bracelets, and rebounded. All that power flooded back into Merlin, into the frail shell that was his body. He screamed again as it swept through him, unbearably strong, washing him into dark, blissful unconsciousness.

This time, there were no dreams to keep him company.

~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ 

Arthur leaned back against the old oak tree, watching as Gwaine and Lancelot started unsaddling the horses and setting up camp and trying not to think about how wrong it felt not to have Merlin there. Merlin was always there when Arthur went on a journey. Even when he wasn’t supposed to be, he would turn up like a bad penny, smiling that dopey smile and ignoring any and all hints that maybe he should go back home.

If Merlin was there now, he would be whinging. About the lateness of the hour, about the difficulty of finding dry firewood (though he would always, always be able to light the fire. Sometimes Arthur thought Merlin could light a fire in a blizzard), Merlin would find _something_ to gripe about, and then Arthur could order him to stop complaining, and they would bicker comfortably while the camp was set and the dinner started.

Instead, there was just Gwaine and Lancelot silently laying the fire, putting up the tents, and stockpiling logs for the night, casting him the occasional furtive glance.

Arthur knew he should get up and lend a hand, but he was tired, dammit. Tired, and angry, and frustrated. And he was the prince; if he wanted to rest then it was his royal right to do so, and the other two could just deal with it.

With a sigh, he heaved himself to his feet and moved to steady the tent Gwaine was putting up.  
Maybe if he kept busy, he could forget about how there had been absolutely no sign of Merlin, not anywhere. How Leon had come riding in, almost falling off his horse in his haste, with a strange tale of Merlin disappearing into the night without a trace. Arthur silently blessed the man for coming himself - leaving Camelot under Leon for a short time was a much easier prospect than leaving the city to be run by one of his father’s men. Especially with Elyan and Percival to support him. Arthur would have left Gwaine and Lancelot as well and just gone himself, propriety be damned, but they had flatly refused to stay behind.

Arthur carefully did not think about the lingering guilt he felt about Gwaine’s injury, and how it had perhaps led him to acquiesce a little too easily to the knight’s demands.

Nonetheless, they had made swift progress towards Ealdor where Leon had ordered the squad to meet them, securing the village until more support could arrive. On arriving, however, Hunith had greeted them with warmth and confusion. She was glad to see Arthur, of course, and asked after Merlin, and knew nothing at all about raiding bandits or indeed any attackers at all. She also had no knowledge of the messenger sent to warn Camelot of Ealdor’s plight, and had not seen or heard from Merlin recently at all.

Leon said he had searched, had told them that the squad had hunted for several hours once it was realised that Merlin was indeed missing. Arthur had had him describe the area extensively, and after taking their leave of Hunith and the village, he had taken Gwaine and Lancelot to the place Merlin had last been seen. From there, a faint trail of the passage had been found heading north, and they were now following it.

Arthur was careful not to consider who, exactly, would know the reaction elicited by any threat to Ealdor. Or what she could possibly want with Merlin.

~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ 

He was asleep, because he had to be.

He was sleeping, and dreaming, and it was a nightmare. Because if it wasn’t, then - no. Merlin refused to believe that he was not asleep. The cell was cold, and dark, and silent because this was a nightmare.

He curled tighter into himself, rocking gently as he hummed. Humming was a strange tuneless music, and it was nothing like enough, not even close to what it should be, to what it was when he was awake - but still infinitely better than silence.

Merlin had learned, in however long he had been dreaming this dream, that screaming was not a good way of producing sound. It took up too much strength, and had left his throat so sore he’d been forced to spend a long period of time with only whatever noise he could make with his hands, or feet, or with the cold, silent stone of his cell.

Humming, on the other hand, he found he could keep up almost indefinitely. So he hummed, a tuneless, wordless buzz of constant sound that he could focus on - and not have to think about the echoing, deathly silence.

His fingers hurt, and sometimes he noticed the blood seeping from raw wounds where he had torn at his own flesh, trying to get the strange silver bracelets off his wrists. But it was easier if he ignored them, because they might make him remember - something. And he _must not_ remember, though he didn’t remember why.

Merlin hummed, and hoped he would wake up soon.

~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ 

“It is likely that Morgana took Merlin,” said Arthur, looking between Lancelot and Gwaine. Even though he did wish they hadn’t insisted on coming, he was glad of their presence. Loyal men, both, and he trusted them with his life. Still, Merlin’s absence was a palpable thing between them.

“I don’t know who else would think to use Ealdor in such a fashion,” he continued. “She knows where it is and what it means to Merlin, and she would know what kind of reaction he would have to that message. Taking him in the forest would have been easy enough, especially if magic was involved.”

Lancelot gave a small start at that, and Arthur glanced over to him. But Lancelot stayed silent, so Arthur continued, “I cannot see any reason for Morgana to take Merlin unless it is to draw me out. She is no doubt expecting me to bring a large group of soldiers, to follow this trail and lay siege to wherever she is holding him, to try to capture her and whoever is with her, while also seeking to retrieve him.”

Gwaine nodded. “Seems logical. We had the men with us in Ealdor, why did you not bring them along?”

“Because stealth will be the greater weapon,” Arthur told him. “I sent a message back to Camelot, calling for the army. They are to muster and follow us, though they will be several days behind. We will follow the trail to Morgana’s hideout. By the time the army arrives, we will have been able to infiltrate and retrieve Merlin so he cannot be used as a hostage. This way, we will also be able to scout out their fortifications and defences before the army arrives, which will give us an advantage.”

Lancelot leaned forward. “I can see only one problem with this plan, sire. What of Morgause and her magic? How are we to fight that without any sorcery of our own?”

Arthur frowned. “We have done well enough without using sorcery in the past. There should be no problem. They may have magic, we have defeated them before and will do so again.”

Lancelot looked troubled at this, didn’t seem to have any further arguments. “Yes, sire.”

“Good!” Arthur said. “Now get some rest. I will take first watch. We will need all of our wits in the morning.”

~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ 

Merlin knows it is only a dream, knows that he is only sleeping and not really locked in this strange silent cell, because sometimes he sees Morgana.

She comes and goes, flitting in and out of his reality like the sun on a cloudy day, silently watching him as he rocks and hums and wishes he could wake up. Sometimes, though - sometimes she talks.

He doesn’t listen. She’s only a dream.

Sometimes, Merlin thinks about what he would tell her, if she was real. Like - I’m sorry. Like - I should have told you. Like - I’m sorry I have to hate you now. Like - killing you killed me too.

Like - I always loved the eagle in your song, soaring free and bold and strong. But then you flew away from us.

These are the things he thinks of telling her. But he doesn’t. After all, she’s only a dream.

~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ 

After a while, Merlin stopped dreaming of Morgana. He dreamt of Morgause instead, and that was worse.

The first time, she just stood and watched him, eyes cold and curious as he rocked and hummed.

The next, she brought Mordred, and Merlin was left writhing helplessly as their combined magicks twined over his skin and through his mind, his own power locked beneath the silver shackles and raging against the confinement like a wild beast in a cage. The sensation of enraged fire locked inside him as foreign, silent, sinuous power curled through his flesh made him shudder uncontrollably, tears stinging his eyes and agony biting his already-painful wrists.

The time after that, she spoke, and tore all his illusions to shreds.

“Morgana has told me you do not listen, do not hear, and do not respond when she speaks,” Morgause said, her voice casual.

Merlin paid her no attention, mind focused on his humming. She was a dream, and she would fade like Morgana had, if he could just ignore her for long enough.

Morgause frowned. “I will not accept this behaviour.” Stretching out a hand her eyes flared gold, and suddenly the humming stopped.

Merlin stopped rocking, hands flying to his throat as he stared at her, wide-eyed. Opening his mouth, he tried to speak, tried to form some kind of noise - but there was nothing. He could not make any sound at all. Silently, he screamed.

Morgause smirked at him. “That’s better. Now, do I have your full attention?”

Merlin gaped soundlessly, clawing desperately at his ears, his throat, his face, heedless of the pain of his nails gouging at his own flesh.

Morgause watched coldly. “It amazes me, really. That the magic chose you, of all people, to be the vessel for such power. And that it was so easy to destroy the vessel entirely.” She waved a hand, and Merlin was hauled to his feet, arms locked in place by silent power that made his skin crawl, mind shuddering away from the impossible dichotomy of silent magic.

She stepped around him, gaze analytical. “You see, Mordred, it is the same as happened to my own teacher. Those who try to hear the music go mad, but taking it away from Emrys has the same effect. Curious, is it not?”

“It should have been me,” said Mordred. He was standing in the doorway, and Merlin hadn’t heard him, hadn’t known he was there without the music to tell him, how could he know anything without the sound to confirm it? How could you be sure a thing existed if you couldn’t hear it? Eyes couldn’t be trusted like the music could. But the music was gone, it was gone, there was no life left in the world. Death was everywhere. Morgause was silent, she was dead, she and Mordred too, they were both dead and he was dead as well because he couldn’t even hear his own voice.

Merlin closed his eyes and wished desperately that he would wake up.

Morgause slapped him, hard, and his eyes flew open again as he gasped silently at the unexpected burn of pain.

“You will pay attention, Emrys. I am your mistress and you will do as I command.”

Merlin shook his head, confused. That wasn’t right, he knew it wasn’t. This was a strange dream, if he could feel pain. Normally, pain was supposed to wake you up, wasn’t it? Or maybe that had been a dream, too.

“You are not dreaming, Merlin,” Morgause said, and Merlin went still.

She was lying. She had to be lying, he was dreaming that she was lying, because she was evil and his mind was playing tricks on him.

“You are not dreaming. You are awake, and you belong to me.”

No. No, it wasn’t true.

“You are awake, and you now serve me. Say it.”

And the magic that had stolen his voice was gone, and Merlin could hear his own harsh panting once again.

“Never,” he managed to gasp, and she struck him again.

“Then you will never hear the music again,” she said softly, and stepped back as Merlin screamed, low and hoarse and agonized.

Morgause turned to Mordred. “It is all a matter of finding the right leverage,” she told him, stepping back further. “Pain is often effective, but the fear of pain is a stronger motivator. This is an unusual case, and you see how the music becomes useful to us.”

“First he must be broken of this delusion that he is dreaming,” said Mordred. “Surely we can do nothing until he is fully aware of his situation.”

“Perhaps,” Morgause mused. “Or perhaps we can use it to our advantage. If he is convinced he is only dreaming, would he swear a binding oath in the belief it would not hold when he awoke? Or would he tell us secrets to make us leave him in peace, believing he is only telling a phantom and a thought? You see how this could be useful to us.”

“Indeed,” Mordred agreed, nodding. “I had not thought of that.”

Merlin thrashed in his bindings, mind reeling, thoughts spinning out of control as he tried to make sense of it all. Was it a dream? Was he awake? Could he risk not believing that there might be consequences?

“Are you enjoying the silence, Emrys?” Mordred asked. “Are you enjoying finally being like everyone else?” His face darkened. “I should have been the one. It should never have been you. It should have been me!”

“No,” Merlin managed to gasp, and was distantly appalled at the wreck that was his own voice.

“He’s right,” Morgause told him. “It should never have been given to you. You are unworthy.” Her face twisted into a snarl. “What are you, little nothing boy, compared to the mastery of those who have gone before you? No, you are unfit. A tragic waste of what should have been a tremendous gift, but we will make do with what we have. Arrangements will be made. If you do not swear your powers to my service, you will never use them again.”

“No,” Merlin said again, and then again. “No, no, no, no nononononono,” repeating it until the words ran together in meaningless blur of sound, precious sound, sharp against his too-sensitive ears. Until he forgot what he was saying, why he was saying it, that it ever had a meaning or a purpose, and still the words continued to trip over his tongue, flowing over his lips in an unending torrent of sound, and the noise became a purpose all of its own.

Morgause slapped him again, and still the sounds flooded out, his mouth still moving silently even when her eyes flared gold and stole his voice away again, because even if he couldn’t hear it, the word was in his mind, all he could think of. The only thing left in his fragmenting mind is the meaningless, endless denial.

Eventually, she tired of trying to make him stop, and Merlin couldn’t stop a low grunt of pain when the magic finally abandoned him, letting him drop painfully to the floor. “No,” he gasped, voice cracking.

“We will leave him for a time,” she said. “He cannot hide in madness for long. Tomorrow, his voice will be gone and it will be all his own doing, and the others should have arrived by then. He will see the folly of resisting, and the last of his hopes will be gone. From there, progress should be rapid.” She smiled. “Come, we will leave him to his hopeless denials.”

The door clanged once, and then Merlin was alone with the silent darkness.

~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ 

The castle was larger than Arthur had expected, and much more defensible than he had imagined Morgana’s hideout would be. Just how she had managed to obtain a huge fortress by the sea he still had no idea, but he tried not to show how worried he was about their chances of infiltrating the place.

It had taken longer than expected to follow the almost non-existent trail. Merlin had been a prisoner in that fortress for far too long now, though the army was probably only four or five days behind them.

But somehow, it turned out that Gwaine had been there before - briefly in service to some petty lord or another - and knew the layout. “Tintagel used to belong to the Priestesses of the Old Religion, but it’s been abandoned since the Great Purge,” he told them as they picked their way carefully down the cliff. “We only stayed a few days, but the men were jumping at shadows the entire time.”

“And you weren’t?” asked Arthur skeptically, slightly breathless from the climb.

“Priestesses or ghosts, I’ve never met a lady I couldn’t charm,” Gwaine claimed, grinning. “Now, if we follow the beach around, the low tide will let us close enough to climb the north tower. That’s the one with the largest windows, and we should be able to slip in easily enough.”

The corridors were strangely empty as they crept through the dark castle, searching. The dungeon was deep in the bowels of the fortress, and it was unguarded. Only one door was locked.

The solid wood gave readily enough under the weight of three strong men, and Arthur peered cautiously into the dim cell, recoiling slightly at the stench. Inside, there was a strange humming noise coming from one of the corners. “Merlin? Merlin, are you in here?”

There was a scuffling noise, and a whimper. The humming stopped. Arthur raised the torch, and saw a figure curled against the far wall, head buried in long, thin arms, rocking from side to side.

“Merlin?” Arthur was at his side in an instant, clasping his shoulder gently. “We’re here to get you out, you idiot. Come on, we have to go!”

Merlin looked up, and Arthur drew in a startled breath. Merlin’s eyes were sunken, wild, and so very blue.

“Arthur?” Merlin’s voice was hoarse. Arthur didn’t want to think about why that might be.

“Yes, it’s me. Can you walk, Merlin?”

“Arthur…” Merlin smiled, reaching out one hand to touch Arthur’s face gently. “You’re a good dream.” Then his face crumpled. “You … Arthur. You shouldn’t be here. Why are you here? ”

Arthur blinked. “Of course I should. Come on, we need to get you out, quickly.”

“Arthur… no, no, _NO_.” Merlin jerked away from Arthur, wide-eyed and shaking. “You shouldn’t be here! No!”

“Merlin, what is going on? What’s wrong?”

“You - you shouldn’t be here, in the nightmare. You’re a good dream. Why are you here? Oh god, I can’t hear you. I can’t hear you!”

Arthur frowned. “Merlin, what’s wrong? What do you mean, you can’t hear me?”

But Merlin ignored the questions. “You shouldn’t be here! I can’t hear you. I CAN’T HEAR YOU!”

He screamed then, raw and hoarse and full of so much pain that Arthur jumped in surprise. Merlin tore himself away from Arthur’s grip, scrabbling backward until he was jammed into the corner of the cell, hands clinging to the cold stone walls, sobbing brokenly. Arthur stared at him in confusion and concern.

Gwaine stepped forward. “Let me try, sire.”

Arthur nodded, and Gwaine moved over to kneel next to Merlin, reaching out to lay a cautious hand on his arm. “Merlin? It’s me. It’s Gwaine, Merlin, can you hear me?”

Merlin squinted up at him. “Gwaine…..”

“Yes. Yes, I’m here, Merlin. Try to focus on me, okay? We’re going to get you out of here.”

Merlin stared at Gwaine with wide, scared eyes. “They killed the bird.”

“What?” Gwaine blinked in confusion.

Tears came to Merlin’s eyes as he repeated. “The bird. I can’t hear you. They killed the bird. They killed it!” He was sobbing harder now, shoulders shaking, cheeks wet with tears as he repeated, “They killed it.”

Gwaine looked back to Arthur, confused and upset. “I don’t understand. What have they done to him?”

Arthur’s face was dark. “Whatever it is, they will pay for it.”

Lancelot moved a little closer, but kept space between himself and Merlin. “Look, sire. His hands.”

Arthur leaned forward. Merlin had wrapped his arms around his head again, and was sobbing quietly to himself, humming between each gasping, ragged breath. Arthur squinted in the dim light, trying to see, and then his eyes went wide. Merlin’s arms were covered in red, swollen wounds, and the ends of his fingers were bloody. And clasped around his wrists, bright against the raw flesh, were two shining, silver bracelets. He gasped. “Are those…. They can’t be.”

A voice from behind answered him. “Yes, Prince Arthur. Those are exactly what you think they are.”

Arthur whirled. Morgause was standing in the doorway, a calm smile on her face. “You honestly thought it would be that easy to get in and out again without detection? Poor naive boys, I suppose you never even considered that this might be a trap.”

Arthur had his sword in hand and pointed at her before his mind could process what she had said. Involuntarily, he glanced back over to Merlin, then turned to face her again. He knew better than to turn his back on Morgause, but somehow he couldn’t stop his eyes being drawn to the huddle of Merlin - of _sorcerer_ \- curled in the corner of the cell.

Surely it couldn’t be true. She was lying, was playing mind games - just like the first time they met. Merlin couldn’t have magic, the idea was ludicrous.

At Morgause’s voice, Merlin looked up. “Arthur…” he whispered, reaching out one hand as though he could stop Morgause with the power of his will alone.

Though, Arthur supposed, maybe Merlin could - if he were a sorcerer. But he couldn’t be. He just couldn’t.

“You’re lying!” he snapped, and Morgause laughed.

“I’m not lying. Merlin is a sorcerer, and has been using magic for much, much longer than you have known him. He can never stop, not for you, or for anyone. He is the one who has been lying to you ever since you first met.”

Arthur felt like ice had been poured through his bones. His mind reeled with incomprehension, but he couldn’t help remembering his father - a long time ago - showing him those two bracelets, nestled in a box lined with soft red velvet.

“These are one of our most powerful tools against the sorcerers, my son,” Uther had told him. “They will tie a wizard to us, and to us alone. Only a Pendragon may use them - only you and me. When they are fitted, the sorcerer cannot use his power at all, not until you release him. This is how we were able to purge magic from our lands.”

But surely if Merlin was a sorcerer, Arthur reasoned, he wouldn’t have been captured at all. He would have been able to do something, something magic, to keep himself safe.

Unbidden, memories of miraculous escapes and unexpected victories sprang to Arthur’s mind. He remembered all the times he should, by any logic, have been killed - there were more than he cared to think of. He remembered the strange, cryptic comments Merlin had made once in a very great while, when he had seemed to know more than he ought.

But no, Morgause was lying. Had to be lying. Merlin couldn’t be able to do magic, the idea was absurd.

Before Arthur could make any sense of it, Morgause had stretched out her hand, saying something in a strange tongue. Her eyes glowed brilliantly gold, and Arthur’s sword was suddenly wrenched from his grasp. From the startled exclamations behind him, Gwaine and Lancelot had lost their weapons as well.

He had a few seconds to go for his dagger, but then magic was wrapping around his arms, the air turning solid as steel, forcing his wrists to cross and locking them in front of him. He struggled against it, but there was not even the slightest give in Morgause’s power. His arms were frozen in place, immovable, though his fingers clenched and unclenched as he raged against the magic.

Panic bubbled in the pit of his stomach, but Arthur forced it down. They would find a way out of this, he told himself. Of course they would.

When the three knights were secured, Morgause dropped her hand and stepped back, looking over her shoulder. “Bring them to the inner courtyard, all four of them. I will send for the others, and have them meet us there.”

A familiar-looking man stepped around her and into the cell, a pleased smile on his face. “Prince Arthur! Such a pleasure to see you again.”

Arthur glared at him. “Alvarr. I wish I could say the same.”

Alvarr laughed and shoved at Arthur’s shoulder, hard. “Smart mouth. Move, boy, you heard her.” He leaned close. “Don’t keep the ladies waiting, prince. It isn’t polite.”

Arthur jerked out of Alvarr’s grip and snarled back, “Keep your filthy sorcerer’s hands to yourself. And I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to see you toadying to Morgause - are you her new pet, now Cenred is gone? I hope you have better luck than he did.”

Alvarr just laughed. “Move, little princeling.”

Arthur moved, glancing over his shoulder to see Lancelot and Gwaine follow. Several armed, blank-faced men fell in around them, eyes sharp for any attempts to escape.

Merlin, however, needed to be hauled to his feet and half-carried as he shook and moaned and sobbed. The hoarse, pitiful cries made Arthur want to kill things - Alvarr and Morgause, for preference.

But Merlin was a sorcerer. Arthur shouldn’t feel anything but hatred for a magic-using traitor who had clearly worked his way into Camelot’s confidences for his own devious ends.

On the other hand, the thought of Merlin having ‘devious ends’ was clearly so ludicrous, Arthur was forced to conclude Morgause must be lying. Besides, magic deprivation shouldn’t have reduced Merlin to such a state, even if he was a warlock. There had to be more to it.

Arthur felt like he was staring at a child’s puzzle with half the pieces missing. His thoughts were turning in circles, unable to decide if Morgause was lying - and if so, why? None of it made any sense.

Before he could come to anything remotely resembling a conclusion, they were being pushed through a high archway into a courtyard that echoed with the roar of the pounding sea.

Arthur looked around, assessing. It was not a large space, framed on all sides with high stone walls. Opposite them was a second arch, matching the one through which they had come - but this one seemed to lead into darkness. Arthur squinted at it, trying to work out what could be on the other side, and then suddenly he realised. That was the reason why the sea was so loud - there was nothing beyond the high curving stones except air, and the ocean. The arch was the marker, and the warning, for the sheer cliff that fell away to nothingness only inches from the castle edge.

Sitting in the centre of the courtyard, though, were more immediate concerns. Morgana and the young druid boy - Mordred, that was his name - were perched on the edge of a tall fountain, and the musical singing of water over carved stone was drowned by the roar of the sea below. They both looked up when Morgause swept through the arch, followed by the three magically-restrained knights, several men-at-arms, and Alvarr, who was half-dragging Merlin behind him.

“Arthur!” Morgana smiled, greeting him as though they had met crossing the courtyard at Camelot. “What a delightful surprise!” Her smile turned to a smirk. “Except, of course, for how predictable you are. Did you really think we weren’t expecting you?”

Arthur just glared. “Predictable or not, at least I am no traitor.” Anger and sadness warred for supremacy as he stared at her, and he couldn’t keep the bewilderment from his voice as he asked, “Why, Morgana? What did we ever do to make you hate us so much? What did I do to make you want me dead?”

“Why? You ask me _why_?” Her voice was like a whiplash. “I have magic, Arthur. Do you really think Uther wouldn’t have had me burned, if he knew? Or dragged screaming to the block for the headsman’s axe?” She narrowed her eyes. “He has killed so many innocents, one more would make no difference. Even if it was me.”

Arthur shook his head. “No. No, he would never. He loved you!”

“And he would have regretted the necessity of my death!” Morgana spat. “He would have mourned when I was gone, but he would have killed me nonetheless.” She shook her head. “No, Arthur. Uther is a murderer, and he deserves to die. Camelot will be ruled with justice again when he is dead and I am Queen.”

Arthur’s voice was low and shaking now. “And I suppose you will regret and mourn the necessity of _my_ death?”

She looked away, and Morgause answered instead. “Sacrifices must be made to secure the throne. You, Arthur Pendragon, will be a threat to Morgana’s rule as long as you are alive. You have already demonstrated that you hold the same views as your father, and as such are no better than him. Your rule would not end the oppression of our people.”

Mordred squeezed Morgana’s hand. “It is necessary,” he told her.

She nodded. “I know.” Taking a deep breath, she got to her feet and reached for the sword that had been lying, unnoticed, by her side. “I will do it.”

Arthur struggled against the binding magic, but it was still mercilessly tight. Behind him he could hear Lancelot and Gwaine fighting the spells that held them, but Morgause was already holding out her hand, eyes glowing as she restrained them.

“No! Stop!”

Arthur almost looked over at the sound of Merlin’s feeble, breaking voice, but kept his eyes on the blade in Morgana’s hand. At Merlin’s words, she paused, glancing at her sister.

Morgause arched an eyebrow. “Finally he speaks!”

Merlin tried to say something else, but his voice cracked and failed. He coughed and tried again. “If… if you release him, if you swear not to kill him, I will take your oath. I will give my magic to you.”

Morgana laughed. “Oh, Merlin. Arthur must die. He cannot live to raise an army against me again.”

Mordred spoke then, high voice distant. “First we will kill him, and send his head to his father as proof of his death. His body will be given to the sea. Then you will swear your magic to me. I have seen it.”

Merlin shook his head. “If you kill him, I will die before I ever serve you!”

“You cannot. The bindings will not permit it. You now live and die at the behest of the Pendragon bloodline,” Morgana smiled. “And in a few days, that will be me alone. Uther will not last long when he learns that his precious son is dead. Camelot will fall a second time, and I will take the throne and bring magic back to the land. And you, Emrys, will serve me and fulfil the prophecies. Together, we will bring about the time of peace, as is foretold.”

“NO!” Merlin struggled out of Alvarr’s grip with an unexpected strength, dashing forward towards Morgana. “I won’t let you kill him!”

But Morgause was there, eyes shining golden, and Merlin was flying backwards to slam into the unforgiving stone of the wall. He crumpled to the ground with a breathless cry of pain, but within seconds he was moving again, trying to crawl towards Arthur.

Mordred laughed, and the sound was piping and strange.

Arthur looked down at his bound arms, then up at Morgana. An idea flashed in his mind, and before he knew quite what he was doing he had flung himself towards Merlin, diving forward and rolling painfully over the hard ground, arms still fixed, stretching out his still-obedient fingers and reaching for the bracelets that kept Merlin bound.

And Merlin was there, shoving his wrists into Arthur’s seeking hands. The cold metal stung his fingers with tingling power as he gripped them. He didn’t know the words to make the magic obey his will, but he wrapped his fingers around the bracelets and with every drop of the strength he could muster, Arthur _commanded_ the magic to release Merlin.

There was a soft chinking sound as the bracelets fell to the ground.

~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ 

Merlin was drowning in music. Waves of sound battered against him, immense noise a palpable weight crashing over his skin and surging through his mind. He’d thought the music overwhelming before, but nothing could possibly have prepared him for this.

He revelled in it. The music was back, it was _there_ , he could feel it dancing through him, a mighty flood of sound and glory that swept everything else away. He could hear the symphony of the ocean, the chorus of the sky and stars and clouds, the resonating brightness of Arthur and the songs of other people too. He couldn’t see, couldn’t feel, but what was sight? What was touch? Insignificant, unreliable, unnecessary. There was nothing but the music. He needed nothing but the music.

Distantly, Merlin was aware that there was something he should probably be paying attention to, some urgent matter that he should deal with, but the world was being washed away by the overwhelming torrent of sound and he was happy to let it go. He would stay in the music forever, and he would be content.

 _“Merlin.”_

That was Arthur’s voice, Merlin realised with a jolt. Somehow, the sound of Arthur’s voice had found him, floating in the vastness of the music, and was pulling him back towards the world.

Merlin fought. He didn’t like the world, the world was full of pain, and evil, and silence, and Merlin would rather die than spend another second in silence.

But Arthur’s voice came again, loud and demanding, cutting through the music like it was no more substantial than the air. The sound of it gripped Merlin and refused to let him go, forcing him back into the world, adamantly refusing to relinquish its hold.

The world swam back into view.

Merlin gasped, shaking, feeling like he had just been plunged into ice-cold water. Arthur was leaning over him, and his song was ringing loud in Merlin’s ears. There was something wrong with it, though, a twining harmony of magic tainting the bright fire-song. Merlin reached out a thought and stopped the ugly music.

Somewhere, he could hear Gwaine and Lancelot, and they were tainted too, so he stopped the ugly song for them as well. But there was something missing, a note that they usually had was absent and it shouldn’t be. He added swords to their music, and smiled as the cool metal resonated a lovely harmony with their songs. That was better.

Arthur was moving away from him now, shouting something as he waved the sword Merlin had given him. Merlin knew he’d been able to understand words, once. Or maybe that had been a dream? No, that wasn’t right. But the sounds Arthur was making were strange and sharp, ringing in his ears and utterly incomprehensible; like a language he’d heard just once, a long time ago.

Morgause was saying something now, flinging out a curling, sinuous harmony that snaked towards Merlin. Merlin didn’t like how it sounded, so he made that song stop.

Somewhere close by, someone went silent. Merlin shuddered. It was not one of his people, he knew, but the reminder of silence still made his mind recoil. Looking over, he saw Alvarr crumpling to the ground. Gwaine was standing over him, his sword stained with blood. Nearby, Lancelot was holding back several other men, sword a humming blur as he moved. Merlin frowned, and sent sleep singing to the men fighting Lancelot until they collapsed, muted and unconscious.

Mordred was yelling and Morgana was shrieking. Merlin had really had enough of them, and of the world. He wanted to go back and hide in the music, let it keep him safe, insulated, away from people who shouted and screamed and stopped. But he knew he mustn’t do that until he had made sure Morgause and Morgana and Mordred couldn’t hurt Arthur. Even if all he wanted was to throw himself back into the world-song, he had to make sure they were not going to hurt anyone first.

And then something in his mind went _click_ , and he knew what to do.

“You wanted the music.” His voice was scratchy and hoarse to his ears, and he couldn’t remember why that might be. “You wanted it, no matter the cost, even though the power did not choose you. I will give you what you wanted.”

It only took a thought, a tendril of power reaching out of his mind into theirs, just a little push. He couldn’t explain how he knew where to touch, or how to manipulate the glittering flow of power, but it felt as though he had always known, as if the knowledge had been there all along, just waiting for him to need it.

He pushed, and then the air was full of screaming.

Merlin smiled, and let the music wash him away.

~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ 

Arthur clutched at the sword that had materialised from nothing, holding the blade level and pointed at Morgana. He quashed the part of his brain that was clamouring about Merlin and sorcery and magically-appearing swords - he would deal with the revelation later, when they were not fighting for their lives. At least now he was armed, Lancelot and Gwaine were dealing with the other men, and Merlin seemed to be managing any magical attacks. He swung the blade up, ready to attack, when suddenly Morgana crumpled to the ground.

Arthur stared in astonishment, eyes flicking from Morgana to Morgause to Mordred, as all three of them began to scream and clutch at their ears. He looked over to Merlin, who had slumped back onto the ground, apparently unconscious, and then back.

Mordred was clawing at his face, nails cutting deep into his skin and drawing streaks of bright blood that ran down his cheeks and dripped from his chin as he wailed in distress.

Morgana had dropped the sword, and it lay by her side as she tore at her hair and screamed. The castle rumbled around them as her eyes flashed gold, but the low sound seemed to make her scream louder. It died away after a moment, Morgana’s eyes fading back to green as she moaned, low and harsh.

Morgause had cried out once but was now gasping desperately, taking deep, heaving breaths as though she couldn’t get enough air. Her eyes were wide and unseeing.

“What… what?” Gwaine managed, sword still poised over Alvarr’s still body.

Arthur looked between the three figures, bewildered but still wary. “I have no idea.”

There was a splash, and the noise in the courtyard was abruptly lessened. Mordred had tipped backwards into the fountain. There was a long moment as the knights waited for him to surface, waited for one of the women to go to him, but no one moved. Mordred’s legs kicked once, twice, and then went limp.

Arthur stared. “Morgana, what…?”

Morgana ignored him, but Morgause looked over to where Mordred was lying still. A strange look passed over her face, and she keened once, high and loud. “Emrys! Damn you, what have you done?”

Then she was running, tripping and stumbling past Morgana, past the fountain and Mordred’s small body. With a final wordless cry, she ran through the curving stone archway and was gone.

For a moment, the courtyard was silent but for the echoing roar of the sea.

Morgana didn’t even seem to notice. She looked over to where Merlin was lying unconscious, hands tangling in her hair. “You - Emrys - I can’t … even my own voice!” she paused, gasping, hand going to her throat. “I can’t… There’s so much. Too much. How did you bear it? Make it stop. Make it stop!” She screamed again, eyes wild, and Arthur moved to stand between her and Merlin, raising his sword.

Morgana stared at him, eyes wide. “You - you sound like… How is it that _you_ …? I don’t understand. And it won’t stop!” Clutching at her ears, she screamed again. “Oh god, I can’t bear it. I can’t. I - it - no! No more!” She reached for the dagger that hung from her belt.

Arthur raised his sword, ready for her to attack, but Morgana did not even look at him. Instead, she lifted the sharp weapon to the side of her head, and slowly inserted it into her ear.

Blood spurted down the side of her neck, and half her face went strangely slack, but she paid it no heed. Pulling the dagger out, she brought it around to the other side of her head. Blood dripped from the point, trailing a path of wetness over her dress.

Arthur started forward instinctively, but even as he started to move Morgana had already thrust it deep into her head, much deeper than on the previous side. She collapsed to the ground, eyes blank and unseeing, and there was blood, so much blood, spilling over the stones and staining them bright red.

The courtyard was still, silent but for the sound of the sea. And then there was a lower, deeper rumble from the earth beneath the castle, and dust bloomed as a crack snaked up one of the walls.

Arthur looked from the bodies of Morgana and Mordred to where Merlin was slumped, unable to put a name to the torrent of emotions that flooded through him. He pushed them away, and focused on the situation at hand. “Bring him. Leave the others.”

Lancelot moved first, sheathing his sword and hoisting Merlin over his shoulder, lifting him far too easily and moving towards the door back into the castle. Gwaine followed, ready to help if needed.

Arthur hesitated, and then snatched up the bracelets, tucking them into his belt-pouch before following his men. The castle crumbled behind them.

~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ ~ 


	6. Chapter 6

Merlin woke to darkness. He blinked blearily and rubbed at his eyes, letting the familiar music of camp wash over him. He could hear Lancelot sleeping nearby, his soft water-song a soothing counterpoint to the blanket-and-bedroll harmony of the tent and the music of the forest beyond.

Outside, he could hear Arthur and Gwaine. There might have been a fire there as well, and given they were camping in the woods there probably was.

Merlin couldn’t remember why they were camping, though, or where they were. Was it a quest of some kind? He probed his sleep-muddled mind, wondering why he ached all over, and then sat bolt upright as memories came flooding back. Lancelot made a soft grumbling sound, but Merlin wasn’t paying any attention.

He remembered the messenger from Ealdor, and the mist, and then Morgause, and Morgana, and Mordred. He shuddered then, mind skittering away from the memory of that horrific silence. Nothing could ever be worse than that, not anything. Even if Arthur… and then he gasped, realising - Arthur knew. Arthur had come to rescue him, and Morgause had told him about the magic.

And Arthur - Arthur had released him. Merlin felt pleasure wash over him at that memory, of Arthur setting him free, giving him back the music.

But that was a life-and-death situation, and Merlin had no idea if being willing to condone magic for the express purpose of defeating evil was the same as accepting it in Merlin. Accepting it in - in whatever they were to each other, for now and for the foreseeable future together. If they did have a future together.

There was a noise from outside - Arthur was speaking, and Gwaine was replying, though Merlin couldn’t make out the words. And then Arthur was moving away, his music getting fainter, and before he could think better of it Merlin scrabbled to follow.

Lancelot gave a snort and rolled over, and Merlin froze. He didn’t want to deal with his friend’s well-meaning concern right now, not until he knew how things stood with Arthur. As quietly as he could, he picked his way to the flap and slipped outside.

Gwaine looked up from his seat by the campfire. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

Merlin stared at him, eyes wide, distracted by the harmony of Gwaine-and-woods-and-fire, and it took him a moment to realise what had been said. “Oh! Um. I - I just….”

Gwaine smiled, a kind and somewhat self-deprecating smile, and nodded towards the treeline. “Arthur went that way.”

“Thank you!” Merlin said, already moving in the direction Gwaine had indicated, and then he paused. “I’m sorry. For - for everything.”

Gwaine just nodded. ”I know. Go, Merlin.”

Merlin went.

Arthur had only a few minutes head start, but he was moving fast. If Merlin hadn’t had the distinct advantage of being able to follow the bright fire-song he would probably have gotten thoroughly lost in the confusing tangle of trees. But instead he followed the music until he emerged into a small clearing where Arthur was standing alone, staring at the sky.

Merlin paused at the edge of the trees but Arthur had already heard him, was turning with his naked sword gleaming in his hands. When he saw who it was he snorted and moved to sheath the blade, but then paused. Merlin could see the shadow of memory flicker across Arthur’s face, and instead of sheathing the weapon, the prince just let his arm fall, softly-humming blade still held tight in his grip.

“Honestly, Merlin, are you incapable of being quiet? And you shouldn’t be here. You need to rest.” His voice was distant, not at all the usual tone he used when teasing Merlin for his lack of stealth.

Merlin took a step forward. “I…” he started, and then found he had no idea what he wanted to say.

“Yes. You,” Arthur said heavily. He let out a deep sigh, and ran his free hand through his hair. “Go back to camp, Merlin. You aren’t in any state for this conversation.”

Merlin took another step forward. “It .. it’s easier, around you. To rest.”

Arthur shot him a strange look. “Around me?”

Merlin remembered, suddenly, that Arthur didn’t know about the music - just about the magic. “Um.”

Arthur kept staring at him, and Merlin couldn’t read the expression in his eyes. He looked down, and kept his eyes on the ground as he moved to stand a short distance from Arthur. “There - there’s kind of more to it than Morgause told you. Um. Not that I can really remember what she said, I was - not really myself. My mind was - well. You saw.”

The fact that Arthur did not follow this with an insult about Merlin’s normal state of mind was almost a physical blow, and Merlin couldn’t help but flinch.

The silence lengthened between them, and then Arthur spoke again. “So it is true, then. You’ve been using magic for as long as you can remember, and you just - never got around to mentioning it. It just - slipped your mind when you chose to come to Camelot, where sorcery is forbidden on pain of death.”

Merlin stayed quiet.

“You never thought that, oh, serving the crown prince of Camelot while being a _sorcerer_ was perhaps something of a poor choice? Why on earth would you take that risk?” Arthur’s voice hardened. “Or did you have a plan? Was there some elaborate scheme, Merlin, where you were going to infiltrate the heart of the monarchy and ensorcel the heir, establish a puppet on the throne? Rule Camelot through me?” Arthur’s voice cracked and he stopped, breath coming fast. After a moment, he demanded in a low, hard voice, “ _Why_ , Merlin?”

“Because you’re my destiny, you prat!” Merlin burst out. “That’s what it’s all for - the music, and the magic, all of it! It’s all to serve you, because you are going to be the greatest king Albion has ever known and bring a time of great peace. Morgana was trying to make it her instead, but it never could be. It’s you.”

Arthur just stared at him, and Merlin kept going. “Have you ever heard of the world-song?”

Arthur, blinked, looking a little confused by the apparent change of topics, but to Merlin’s surprise, he nodded. ”The harmonia mundi. One of our nurses told us the story. It was Morgana’s favourite. She - the nurse - she was burned for witchcraft when I was twelve.” His voice hardened. “What has a child’s fairy-tale have to do with anything?”

“I can hear it,” Merlin said in a rush. “The music. I always have, for as long as I can remember. It’s always been there. Every single thing in the whole world. I can hear them all.”

Whatever Arthur had been expecting, this evidently wasn’t it. He stared at Merlin open-mouthed. “You can hear - you can hear it? All of it?”

Merlin smiled, letting the symphony wash through him, beautiful and glorious and strong. “Yes.”

“And the magic…?”

“The magic is just a tiny part of it. Of the music. Gods, Arthur, it’s so beautiful. So utterly amazing, and the shackles took it away,” Merlin felt tears pick his eyes at the memory, and he swiped at them angrily. “I couldn’t hear it. It was like - like being dead. I just - ” he trailed off, looking at the ground, waiting for Arthur’s response to this revelation.

“Right,” Arthur’s voice was still cold. “You have all this power, and you can hear this legendary music, and it’s all for - for this great destiny that we’re supposed to have?”

“Yes!” Merlin couldn’t help the relief in his voice, now that Arthur knew. Surely he would understand. But Arthur was still glaring at him. “And you are destined to serve me when I am king of Camelot?”

“Yes!”

“So if your magic is to serve me, you will do as I command.”

There was an undercurrent to this question that Merlin didn’t understand, but he raised his chin. “Yes.”

Arthur reached into his belt-pouch, and there was a soft clinking as he drew something out. He held out one hand, and Merlin went still. He knew that song. Arthur uncurled his fingers to reveal the silver bracelets, eerie twining song humming an insidious counterpoint to Arthur’s own bright music.

Arthur’s voice was very, very soft. “If I order you to put on these restraints, to ensure your magic will not be used against Camelot, would you do it?”

The sound, the sight of the slim, elegant shackles had sent a shockwave of sheer terror through Merlin, and he felt as though every muscle in his body had frozen. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t even blink. All he could do was stand there, listening to the songs of the trees, of the undergrowth, of the beetles in the grass, of the stars and the clouds and Arthur, bright, beautiful Arthur, who was asking him to give this up.

To live dead, to prove he could be trusted.

Every fibre of his being rebelled against the idea. To never again hear the dawn, the busy chaos of the market or the steadfast strength of Camelot. To go without the bubbling of Gaius’s workshop and the harmony of the knights in formation, without Gwen’s happy melody or Gwaine’s cheeky birdsong. Just the idea of giving it all up was so unspeakably horrifying that Merlin couldn’t bear to contemplate it.

But - Arthur was asking him. Arthur wanted him to prove his loyalty, to show that he would give up everything he loved because his king demanded it.

To never hear Arthur’s song again.

Arthur was watching him with shadows in his eyes, hand still extended, the shackles resting in his palm.

Merlin had offered his life for Arthur’s, had been prepared to die for him countless times before, but this… this was infinitely, immeasurably worse. He couldn’t. He _couldn’t._

But Arthur was asking.

Merlin had to force his muscles to move, to stretch out his arms and hold his suddenly-sweaty hands, palm up, next to Arthur’s. His red-raw, still blood-stained wrists crawled with anticipation, as though they were about to be branded with hot coals instead of touched by cool, humming metal.

Every instinct in his body screamed at him to jerk away, to flee the promise of a living death that was contained in Arthur’s palm, but Merlin held his wrists in place and stared into Arthur’s eyes. “Yes.”

Something changed then, and all the tension seemed to go out of the space between them. Arthur jerked his hand away, dropped the shackles as though they had burnt him and staring at Merlin as though he had never seen him before. “You would…. For me.”

Merlin just watched him, a little confused, arms still held outstretched between them.

Arthur reached out a shaking hand. _“Merlin.”_

Merlin looked down at the shackles still humming on the bare earth, and then back up at Arthur. His voice was high and unsteady as he said, “You’re - you’re not - ”

“No. No, I could never … I saw what it did to you. But you would. For me. If I asked it.”

The relief was a physical blow. Merlin crumpled to the ground. Huge, gasping sobs wracking his whole body as the tide of emotion overwhelmed him, and he brought his hands up to wipe the salty, stinging, softly chiming tears from his eyes.

“Merlin. Oh, gods, Merlin.” Arthur knelt beside him, and then his hands were on Merlin, rubbing his back, touching his arm, pushing the hair back from his face. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. But I had to know. I had to. And you, you. Merlin.”

Merlin kept sobbing, taking deep gulping breaths, unable to stop the shaking as he tried to swallow against the tears that poured down his face. And Arthur was right there, sounding so perfect, pulling Merlin in and holding him close as he wept. Merlin buried his face in Arthur’s shoulder and let all the horror and terror and despair of the last few days pour out as Arthur held him and murmured softly against his hair.

Sometime later, Merlin pulled away, hiccuping a little as he wiped his eyes. “M’sorry.”

Arthur loosened his grip and sat back. “Don’t apologise. I - I wish…”

“I know.” It was a watery smile that he offered, but it was the best he could manage.

Arthur smiled back. “The music of the world. Really? I mean, I always thought it was a nice fable for children, not actually real.”

Merlin hiccuped a laugh. “Oh, yes. You can’t even imagine it.”

Arthur frowned slightly. “Is that what happened to Morgana and the others? The music, somehow? Morgana kept saying that it was too loud, before she ...” he trailed off, looking away.

Merlin swallowed. “Um. Yes. I - I made them hear it, all of it, and I think it drove them mad. It always has in the past, anyone who tries to hear it - there’s a spell, but no one has managed it in years, and I don’t think people try any more. Not after so many sorcerers have lost their minds.”

“Right.” Arthur cleared his throat awkwardly, and Merlin tried not to look like an evil, horrible wizard who liked driving people insane. After a moment, Arthur continued, “So basically, further proof that you’re mad, then.”

It was easy to smile at that. “Shut up, you prat.”

Arthur laughed, and Merlin couldn’t help grinning at him for a moment before letting the expression fall away. A thought occurred to him. “I could show you, if you like.”

Arthur looked at him warily. “Didn’t you just tell me it drives people mad? I like my mind as is, thanks.”

“No! Well, yes, if there’s too much of it. But there wouldn’t be. I can control it now, I think.”

“You think.”

“I can. Let me show you. Please?”

Arthur took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “All right.”

Merlin couldn’t help but grin at the rush of pleasure at that, at Arthur’s trust. Reaching out, he took Arthur’s hand in his, feeling the warm, dry calluses and hearing the bright song that seemed to radiate from Arthur’s skin. He took a breath himself, and let his eyes fall shut.

It was easy, surprisingly so, to find one simple song and push it towards the resonance that was Arthur. He chose the stars, the high cold ringing melody chiming in his mind as he sent it twining into Arthur’s hand.

Arthur gasped. “Oh. That - that is… oh, Merlin.”

Merlin smiled. “That’s the stars.”

“I can’t believe it. They sound - I can’t even begin to describe it.” He sat for a while, a distant smile on his face as he listened. Merlin let the music flow through him, keeping the single melody playing for Arthur as he relaxed in the complex harmony that was the prince in the forest under a star-bright sky.

After a time, Merlin asked, “Would you like to hear what you sound like?”

“Me? I have a song?” Arthur sounded distant and incredulous, and Merlin knew he was still distracted by the music. He slowly drew it back, and had to hide a smile at Arthur’s disappointed huff.

“Of course you have a song. Everyone has a song.”

“Oh. I’d like to hear mine, then.”

Merlin smiled, and let the bright spring-and-fire resonance twine through him and into Arthur.

Arthur gasped. “That - that’s me?”

“Yes. It sounds a bit like fire, and a bit like the coming of the springtime. Do you like it?”

“I… I can’t believe it. It’s incredible. That’s really me?”

Merlin couldn’t help but laugh at the startled pleasure in Arthur’s voice. “Yes, that’s you. No one else I’ve ever met sounds like you do; no one else even comes close. It’s beautiful. Your music. There’s nothing else like it in the world.”

Arthur was looking at him again, and there was something in his eyes that made Merlin’s skin feel too tight, made his stomach twist into knots. And then Arthur was leaning forward, and his hand was in Merlin’s hair, pulling Merlin forward and pressing their mouths together in a kiss.

Merlin had an instant of startled surprise, but Arthur’s lips were warm against his, and he leaned in to kiss Arthur back. He could taste the lingering salt from his tears on Arthur’s mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur murmured, pulling back to rest his forehead against Merlin’s.

“It’s okay. Don’t be sorry. Don’t ever be sorry for this,” Merlin told him, running a hand down Arthur’s warm back. He felt Arthur’s smile curve against his cheek, and tugged him in to be kissed again.

Some too-short length of time later, Merlin’s stomach grumbled loudly. Arthur pulled away with a soft laugh. “You need food. And a bath.”

Merlin huffed in disappointment but he couldn’t disagree. Now that he thought about it, his skin crawled at how filthy he felt, and he knew he probably smelled worse. Food sounded wonderful, but for that they’d have to go back to the camp, and Merlin didn’t feel like he was ready to face the others again. He didn’t want to end the comfortable happiness that was him and Arthur alone together.

“Wash first,” he decided, trying to stand and nearly overbalancing. Arthur reached out and steadied him, and then stood and helped him to his feet. Merlin smiled his thanks, and then turned towards the water he could hear a short distance away.

“Merlin? Where are you going?” Arthur sounded confused, and Merlin turned back to blink at him in puzzlement.

“To the stream. Aren’t you coming?”

“How do you know there’s a stream there?”

Merlin grinned. “I can hear it, of course. Come on.”

Arthur huffed, and then shoved Merlin’s shoulder when he caught up. “And you never thought to share this incredibly useful skill with us before? How many times have we gone searching for water when you could have just told us where it was?”

Merlin shot him a glare. “And how would I have explained it?”

Arthur shrugged, and Merlin shoved him back. This turned into a small tussling match, and then somehow Merlin was being thrown into the stream, fully clothed and sputtering with indignation while Arthur laughed.

“Ahhh, cold! You are such a prat!” Merlin grumbled, reaching out to tickle the water-music towards warmth.

Arthur stopped laughing, eyes wide. “You - your eyes. Do they always…?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Merlin said, wallowing in the now gloriously-warm stream. “Mmm, that’s nice,” he murmured, and ducked under the softly-humming water, running his hands through his hair and letting the music wash over him gently.

That was when he realised - the music wasn’t overwhelming him anymore. Something had changed, something small but vital, and he knew he would never get lost in the music again. It was like a key had been fitted into a lock, somewhere deep in his mind, turning to unlock something so far inside him that Merlin hadn’t even known existed and suddenly everything had changed. A ball of fear, a knot of tension and terror, once rooted in fear of discovery and death, and later so entwined with the fear of losing Arthur that the two were one indistinguishable, overwhelming knot of anxiety that Merlin had been carrying for so many years he had forgotten that it existed.

He was so used to that fear that the unexpected easing of it was dizzying, and he knew, suddenly and with complete clarity, that he would never get lost in the music again. His magic had been trying to stop that fear, and the music was the only way it knew to try to take the negative emotions away - or at least ensure he didn’t care about them anymore.

“Merlin!” Arthur’s voice cut through his thoughts, through the water and the music. He sounded suddenly much closer, and worried.

Merlin pushed himself up, breaking the surface and gasping for air, unable to stop the smile that stretched his face when he realised Arthur was right there, in the stream, looking relieved.

“You - I thought you…” Arthur swallowed and looked away. “Why is the water so warm?”

“Magic,” Merlin told him, still smiling. He reached out and touched Arthur’s face, happiness flooding through him. The music was singing a triumphant chorus around them, and Arthur was staring at him, eyes wide and happy, like he’d just been gifted with the moon and the stars both. And suddenly Merlin had to kiss Arthur rather desperately, so he did.


	7. Epilogue

Returning to Camelot was like putting on an old, familiar piece of clothing to find that it had shrunk in the wash, and now chafed in unexpected places, pinching when he turned around too fast. Merlin kept expecting to wake up in his own small bed and find it had all been some terrible dream, instead of waking in Arthur’s rooms with the curtains drawn and music enveloping him until all he could hear was Arthur, bright and shining and _there_ , soft and sweet and grumpy in the early morning.

Arthur, for his part, seemed torn between making Merlin show him the music for everything he could possibly think of; and pushing Merlin onto his bed and finding as many different ways as possible to make Merlin groan and whimper and beg, leaving both of them an exhausted, sweaty mess. Usually, Arthur did both.

Merlin was curled sleepily around Arthur, fingers of one hand tangled with Arthur’s, letting the song for strawberries play gently through them both when Arthur first brought it up. “What do you sound like?”

“What? What do you mean, me?”

“You, Merlin,” Arthur rolled over to look at him. “Your music, what does it sound like?”

“Um,” Merlin blinked. “I… I don’t know.”

Arthur stared at him, incredulous. “How can you not know?”

“I don’t hear myself,” Merlin shrugged. “I have no idea why.”

“So there’s no way to hear your song,” Arthur sounded so disappointed Merlin couldn’t help the soppy smile that spread over his face.

“I don’t think so. I don’t know how I’d go about trying to hear it myself. I don’t know if I could. I mean, I suppose I could make you hear it, properly, and then pull it back to me so I heard it as well,” Merlin paused, swallowed, and then continued. “But it’d be like for Morgana and the others – it would mean changing your mind, except just on a much smaller scale. I don’t know if I could change it back, after.”

“Oh.” There was a pause.

“I won’t do it. Stop thinking about it,” Merlin ordered. “It drove them both mad! I could never risk doing that to you!”

Arthur grinned. “You drive me mad every day already.”

Merlin just glared, and Arthur sighed. “I just - I want to know what we sounded like, together. Two notes of the same melody, you said the dragon told you. I want to hear it.”

“I don’t care how badly you want to hear it! There is no way I am going to risk you.”

“Fine,” Arthur huffed, and leaned in to kiss Merlin instead.

So the subject was forgotten, or at least Merlin thought it was. But every so often, he would catch Arthur staring at him with a strange, wondering look in his eyes, and he would remember.

 

  
_Several months later_   


 

Arthur groaned and stretched when Merlin opened the door, before rolling over to burrow deeper into the blankets. “Merlin, come to bed. Why are you still up, anyway? It’s late.”

Merlin closed the door behind him and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “It’s not that late,” he retorted. “You’re just exhausted because you’re too busy. If you would just delegate some of your ridiculous amount of responsibilities, you wouldn’t collapse from exhaustion every night. Give the knights’ training to Leon, or something - you know he’d do it well.”

“Can we have this argument again when I’m actually awake?” Arthur asked, somewhat plaintively, and Merlin smiled.

“I suppose so,” he agreed, toeing off his boots and crawling up to sit next to the lump in the blankets that was Arthur. He poked it, and Arthur squirmed and shoved at him.

“More respect for your betters, or I’ll have you in the stocks again,” he threatened.

Merlin laughed. “You just like seeing me bent over like that,” he accused, and Arthur grinned. He was about to reply when Merlin interrupted him. “I have something for you.”

“What?” Arthur sat up, looking curious. “Why? I mean - today isn’t particularly special, is it?”

“No, I just finished it today. I’ve been working on it for a while, and now it’s finally done.”

“What is it?” Arthur asked, leaning forward and Merlin was temporarily distracted by the fact he wasn’t wearing a shirt.

“Umm, it’s - um,” Merlin stuttered. “Here.” He handed Arthur a small pouch. Arthur tugged it open and tipped a silver ring into his palm, then held in up to examine more closely

“I thought you were supposed to be the girl in this relationship. Why are you giving me a ring?”

Merlin rolled his eyes and smacked him. “It’s magic, you prat. I attached the spell to it, so you can put it on or take it off whenever you like.”

“What does the spell do, then? I can’t feel anything.”

“Of course you don’t feel anything, you haven’t put it on yet. The spell is a modified version of the magic-shackles, you remember?

Arthur jerked his hand away, dropping the ring onto the bed. “I don’t need anything like that from you!”

“What?” Merlin blinked. “Oh - no, not like that. I mean I based the magic on the notes Gaius had about how he made them - the basic foundations are the same, but the result is pretty much the complete opposite. But I tied it to the Pendragon line the same way, just to be safe.”

“You’re making even less sense than usual,” Arthur told him. “What exactly is it supposed to do?”

“It will let you hear my music,” said Merlin, and Arthur’s eyes went wide. “Just mine,” Merlin continued hurriedly. “I made the spell very specific. Only you can use it, and it’ll only let you hear me. But I can use another spell to hear it from you, and I can share your song with you the normal way, and then we can hear them together.”

Arthur blinked at him, still a bit stunned. “Merlin…”

“I just - I know you wanted to, and I was curious as well, so I thought it might be worth a try. Elyan made the ring for me, though he didn’t know why I wanted it. Do - do you want to …?”

“Yes!” Arthur picked the ring up again, turning it over between his fingers. “How does it work? I have to wear it?”

“Yes,” Merlin said, narrowing his eyes at the small circle of metal. “It should work as soon as you put it on.”

Arthur slid the ring slowly onto one finger, eyes going wide as it slid home. “Oh….”

“Does it work?” Merlin leaned forward. “It might need a little adjusting, if I -”

“It works,” Arthur interrupted. “Oh, yes, it works. You sound… I don’t know how to describe it. This is amazing, Merlin. Can you share it?”

“Yeah, if I just…” Merlin reached out and wrapped his hand around Arthur’s, calling the music into him and sending Arthur’s own music back so that they both heard the two songs play in harmony. The magic settled into place, surrounding them with sound, and Merlin gasped at the stunning beauty of it. The dragon hadn’t been wrong.

The two songs fit flawlessly together, blending into one seamless, perfect symphony. Not a single note was out of place, music entwining so effortlessly it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began.

Merlin could hear the dragon-fire of his own song mingling with the fire of Arthur’s, the lower, cooler harmonies of his song grounding the brightness of spring and lending it strength, gilding the edge high glittering edge with resounding harmony.

And then somehow Arthur’s mouth was on his and Merlin was moaning into the kiss, sound enveloping them, surrounding them, almost a physical presence shimmering over their skin as they moved together towards a glorious crescendo, and music sang around them like a promise.


End file.
